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"This Feeling"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: angst, language, smut Pairings: 6x2, 2x3x2, 6x3x2 Summary: A dozen years after the wars, Trowa is still trying to find a place for himself. A glimpse into the lives of Duo Maxwell and Zechs Merquise makes him wish for things he had never before considered.
"This Feeling"
This Feeling Trowa had been the Assistant Director of Intelligence for all of seven hours when everything went to shit. On Tuesday night, Trowa left work feeling shell-shocked and confident he was in way over his head. It was one thing to complete half of the old ADI's work - prioritizing intel, approving ops, summarizing and tweaking existing strategies. It was entirely another to be the one in charge. His new office needed to have a revolving door installed. He had no secretary - the old one had left with the old ADI, confirming a juicy bit of Preventers office gossip once and for all - and so, for the entire day, agents had dropped in with no notice, no filter, and no appointments. Trowa had felt like he was back in the circus - juggling paperwork and petty grievances and minor crises. He also felt like knives were being thrown at him - at thirty, he was the youngest ever Assistant Director of Intelligence, and, in fact, the youngest department head by several years. Zechs, as Deputy Director, and Une, as Director, were the closest in age to Trowa. But they, at least, had years of conspicuous military and public service to lend them authority. Most of the agents in the Intel department had never even heard of Trowa before he had been assigned a desk following his last op and during his recovery after the accident. And now he was in charge of them. By the time he packed up his briefcase - shoving as many report folders into it as he could - Trowa was seriously doubting whether or not he could even do this job. It involved far more than just looking at the details and teasing out just how to utilize operatives. It involved politics - office politics, government politics. Things that Trowa had never given much thought to, outside of the very shallow ways in which he needed to manipulate people when he was undercover. He shrugged on the suit coat he had abandoned on the back of his office chair hours ago, and grimaced at the feel of it. Over the weekend, he had gone shopping, never a favorite pastime, and purchased several suits, ties, dress shoes and button-up shirts. They had been from a department store, cheap and dull and serviceable. Trowa hated all of them. He locked his office behind him, feeling a modicum of relief at being able to do that, and started down the hall towards the elevators. "Mr. Barton!" He tensed at his name, at the almost frantic tone of voice that called out. Reluctantly, he turned around and saw a bespectacled man waving at him. "Sir, I'm sorry. We have a situation." Trowa scowled. Of course. "What kind of situation?" The man looked vaguely familiar, but it had been a very long day. It took Trowa far too long to remember who he was. James Anderson. The Deputy Chief of Staff. He had been the one to greet Trowa that morning, to explain that the Chief of Staff had quit, that the ADI's secretary had quit, that the department was in a bit of chaos. He had shown Trowa to his office, and then vanished. Anderson finally reached him, breathing a bit heavily. "There's been an incident in Khartoum." Trowa had had the security clearance for weeks now to be able to monitor active operations and utilize the Intelligence and Field Ops databases. He wracked his brain for what could be going on in Khartoum. "The mining facility or the embassy?" he asked. Anderson blinked, looking impressed, and then he looked sheepish. "Both, actually." "Both," Trowa repeated. Anderson nodded, and then gestured down the hall. "We have live feeds set up in the situation room? I can explain more." "Start now," Trowa ordered. There was no way he was walking into that room without more information. He let Anderson steer him in the direction of the sit room, keeping his pace firmly sedate, and Anderson reluctantly matched him. "Field Ops staged the raid on the mining facility. The one that ADI Leitao approved." Trowa had approved it, technically. Had outlined the critical intel, had reworked the initial plan as it had been presented by the Counterterrorism Unit, and Leitao had merely stamped it. "And?" "And it went fine. They secured the weapons and had minimal casualties, but-" Anderson paused as they passed by a row of occupied cubicles. Trowa stared down any agent bold enough to look up from their work. "How minimal?" he asked. There was a certain culture in Preventers, a culture that he believed was nurtured by all of the ex-Alliance and ex-OZ agents, of shrugging off body counts. Of considering the lives of agents as just one more resource to shuffle from column A to column B. Anderson flushed at Trowa's tone. "Two of the arms dealers were killed, three injured. We lost one agent, and another was wounded. She's been medevaced to Cairo." "I want updates on her situation as soon as you have them." Anderson looked confused. "She's not an Intelligence operative, sir. She's with Counterrorism. Our guys cleared the area before the op went down." "I want updates," Trowa repeated. Anderson nodded. "Okay. Of course, sir." "Explain to me how this is a situation - and what it has to do with the Embassy." "We already identified security breaches in the Embassy last month, and ADI Leitao passed on that information to the ESUN government." Again, it had been Trowa who sent the communiques, but, again, he didn't bother to correct Anderson. "But the government didn't secure the leaks." Trowa felt like swearing, but instead, he kept his face neutral and remained silent. They had arrived at the situation room, and Anderson entered in his keycode. "And?" Trowa prompted as the door lock turned green and he heard the lock disengage. Anderson opened the door, and then licked his lips and let out a shuddering breath. "And the ESUN Ambassador was executed by Sudanese separatists fifteen minutes ago. Counterterrorism sent their team from the mining raid to the Embassy and…" It was clear Anderson wanted to be anywhere in the world other than under the weight of Trowa's glare. "And what?" "And the separatists now have control of the weapons dealers, their weapons, and the Embassy. The Counterterrorism team had to bug out, and we're trying to re-establish contact." Trowa just stared. There was no possible way Anderson had just said those words. "What do you mean the separatists now have control of the weapons dealers and the weapons?" Anderson's eyes darted towards the sit room, and Trowa saw the glare of digital monitors fixed to the perimeter of the wall, saw the forms of a dozen men and women working in the room. He didn't budge. "The CT team didn't have time to secure the cargo or the prisoners. The situation at the Embassy escalated so quickly that they felt it more prudent to engage first." Trowa did swear now. The weapons that the CT team had been sent to secure were pre-colonial nuclear devices. Bombs that could be set off anywhere and cause massive devastation. Finding them in the first place had been a coup, and the Intel team that had tracked the weapons was one of the best. The CT team, on the other hand, sounded like one of the worst. Trowa finally stepped into the situation room. It was absolute chaos, despite the fact that Trowa recognized two other assistant directors - Sokolov, AD of Counterterrorism and Park, AD of Terran Operations. Everyone looked up at his entrance, and Trowa felt sick at the relief on their faces. "Sir." It was Wendy Yang, an Intel officer that Trowa had worked with several times. She had been his handler on two missions, and had debriefed him on another four. He trusted her. And she looked pale and tense. "Agent Yang." "We've tracked the weapons dealers to a safehouse here." She gestured to one of the digital displays that showed an aerial view of a rundown neighborhood in Khartoum. "The weapons?" She shook her head. "The separatists and the weapons dealers fought over the cargo. The CT team estimates that the separatists probably secured all of the weapons." "Probably," Trowa echoed. Yang paled, and Trowa turned away from her to glare at Sokolov. He wanted to ask the portly former Alliance Intelligence officer just what the fuck had happened, and what he planned to do about it. Trowa just barely restrained himself. "Our agents are working to secure the area around the Embassy. They believe the rest of the staff are being held hostage and-" "There are four nuclear bombs somewhere in Khartoum," Park interrupted him. "Seven secretaries and a few guards are the least of our concerns." Yang shot Trowa a look. She knew all too well how he might react to such a blatant disregard of life. Then again, Trowa had to admit that Park had a point. "Where's the nearest Critical Response Team?" Trowa asked Park. She glowered at him. "I scrambled them out of Paris twenty minutes ago." Trowa stared at her. "It's going to take them at least seven hours to get there," he stated the painfully obvious fact. "What about the team in Nairobi?" Park loomed up at him, chin tilted upwards and eyes guarded. "They're already on an op, Agent Barton. You were let in on that, weren't you?" Trowa held her gaze for one long, silent moment. The tension in the room was nearly palpable. "While I wouldn't normally question your department's priorities, Assistant Director Park," he stressed her title, the same one that she should have used when addressing him, "I would think potential nuclear devastation trumps the extraction of Alliance bouillon in Somalia." Sokolov made the mistake of standing beside Park and coming to her defense. "Assistant Director Park and I conferred and agreed that the CT team can resolve this-" "The CT team can't resolve anything," Trowa savagely interrupted. The way Park and Sokolov backed each other up on this - the knowledge that they were gambling with thousands of lives for the potential PR win of securing billions of dollars in Alliance bouillon and saving Khartoum from nuclear devastation - it was a gamble. It was a stupidgamble. And Trowa abruptly realized that neither of them had requested his presence in the sit room. Yang was looking to Trowa's left, at Anderson, and they were sharing a look that was somewhere between full-on panic and rage. Yang had sent Anderson to get him. Which made Trowa wonder, what was Yang doing here? It was clear that Park and Sokolov didn't want Intel anywhere near this. So then why… "Where is our Khartoum team?" he asked her, realizing abruptly, belatedly, why she was still there. "We pulled them from the mining facility two hours before the CT op," she said, and gestured to another digital screen, this one showing the civilian airport in Khartoum. "They're in lockdown at the airport." Trowa thanked a god he didn't believe in that their flight hadn't left before this clusterfuck erupted. "Get them out of there, and get them back on the ground. Brief them on the situation. Their priority is securing those weapons. How much of our network was burned by the CT op?" Sokolov made a disgruntled noise and opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Trowa held up his hand. The gesture shocked him into momentary, furious silence. Yang looked between them, her eyes wide, but answered Trowa's question. "Not much. Our team was really well-insulated. Obviously, our connection in the dealer group isn't good anymore, but otherwise, our Khartoum network is still in place. Ravi was the lead on this." Trowa nodded. Ravi, or Hussein Ravinolli, was an L2 colonial who had been a thorn in the Alliance's side before and during the wars. He was only a few years older than Trowa, and he was one of the most competent Intel agents Trowa had ever encountered. "Good," Trowa sighed. "Good. Get him up to speed." Yang nodded and moved away, picking up a phone and a datapad. "You cannot just barge in here and act like you have the authority to countermand our orders, Barton!" Sokolov finally sputtered. Trowa arched an eyebrow at him. "I haven't countermanded anything. Have your CT team take out the dealers. Have your CRT team get the bouillon cache. And when the Paris CRT team is on the ground, myteam can assist in tracking down these weapons. Or would you rather I twiddle my thumbs and let you two blow up all of Central Africa?" Before either Park or Sokolov could respond, the door to the sit room opened. Trowa didn't bother turning around. He had no interest in whoever had decided to join the legion of useless agents in the room. "Well?" Trowa asked, drawing Sokolov and Park's attention away from whoever had entered and back to him. "Should I call off my team and go home for the night? Or do you want me to call Director Une?" Someone cleared their throat, and Trowa finally turned around. And saw Zechs Merquise standing two feet behind him. The taller man arched one eyebrow at Trowa. "Assistant Director Barton, I'm afraid Director Une is otherwise occupied. But perhaps you could explain the situation to me?" Trowa shoved down his immediate reaction of what the fuck have I done? and laid out, in succinct, bitter detail, what was going on. After he finished, Zechs held his gaze, studying him, seeing the barely banked fury in his eyes. "Do either of you have anything to add?" Zechs asked Park and Sokolov. "Or has Assistant Director Barton summarized the situation accurately?" Neither spoke, and Zechs couldn't quite restrain the sneer on his face. "Assistant Director Barton, you're in charge of this recovery mission. I want progress updates when you have them, and I want this resolved as efficiently as possible." "Yes, sir," Trowa responded immediately. Zechs swept a cold glare over everyone in the room, and then left. -o- Sixteen hours later, it was all over. Trowa was shown into Zechs's office by a trim, brunette secretary who took in his rumpled appearance and bloodshot eyes with a sympathetic look. Zechs, who hadn't spent the night in the sit room pounding coffee and sugary pastries, looked fresh and crisp. He had gone home, had showered and changed into another immaculate suit, and looked like everything Trowa wasn't. Confident, collected, and as though he belonged. Zechs gestured for Trowa to sit, and he very nearly collapsed into the chair across from the Deputy Director's desk. Trowa saw his lips twitch at that, but Zechs didn't comment. "We've secured the last of the weapons," he said without preamble. Zechs nodded. "Good. What kind of repercussions are we looking at?" Ravi's team had recovered two of the bombs almost immediately, through a series of bizarre coincidences, and had acquired info on the third bomb and been able to track it to a probable location within six hours. The Paris CRT had secured that bomb, had taken possession of the other two, and then sat on them while the CT team at the Embassy finally regained control of the facility and the separatist leaders. It had taken another few hours for Ravi to locate the fourth bomb, and by then it was en route to Saudi Arabia. Trowa had broken a few dozen treaties moving a team into place to intercept it, and now that it too was in the hands of a CRT team and Trowa's agents were finally on their way home, he could allow himself to breathe. "You might need to apologize to the Saudi Ambassador," Trowa said. "Apologize?" Trowa shrugged. "I had to circumvent some of the Red Sea Treaties. Most of them," he amended, and then scrubbed at his face. "I'll have all of the details in my report." Zechs leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. "Speaking of reports, Sokolov and Park have already sent over quite a few." Trowa was too tired to keep himself from sneering. The other two ADs had left not long after Zechs gave Trowa official control of the op. They had both sent subordinates to the sit room to monitor the situation and, Trowa was positive, interfere. Despite them, he had been successful. "Sokolov recommends we fire you. Park thinks we should investigate you." Trowa rolled his eyes. It was almost comical - they were both leveling the charges at him that they expected Trowa to recommend against them. Trying to preempt him. "How the hell did either of them get promoted to AD?" Trowa asked wearily. Zechs smirked. "Politics. Politics, and people turning down promotions." Trowa arched an eyebrow at that. "Noin didn't want Park's job. She decided to stay on Mars." "She wouldn't have fucked this up so royally," Trowa muttered. Zechs barked out a laugh. "No, she wouldn't have. Park was promoted to head of Terran Operations three months ago, after the last AD was forced to retire following some revelations about his war activities." Of course. "And Sokolov?" "He's close to the Russian Premier. His appointment to CT was entirely political. Why do you think Une wanted you as ADI so badly she let you dither about it for more than a month?" Trowa hadn't actually considered that Une needed him in that way. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. "Go home. Shower. Sleep. Shave. I want a report on my desk tomorrow." "I might as well stay and do it now," Trowa sighed. "It's already-" "No," Zechs interrupted, tone arctic, and Trowa was reminded that this was a man who had been commanding elite soldiers since he was a teenager. "Go home. I can't have my ADIs wandering around looking like they've been on a three-day bender. You have a phone. You have staff. Get some rest." Trowa sighed and rose to his feet. Zechs stood as well, and he walked around his desk and held out his hand. Trowa stared at it dumbly. "You did good work, Trowa," Zechs said, letting his hand fall back to his side. Trowa realized belatedly that he had been meant to shake Zechs's hand. "Not according to Park and Sokolov," he snarked. "No, and you're going to need to work on how to be a team player. The Intelligence Department doesn't exist in a vacuum, and the best way to look out for your people is making sure the other branches don't have a vendetta against you or them." The look Zechs gave him was hard, and Trowa was forced to concede the point with a nod. "I know," he sighed. "I hadn't really anticipated this part of the job." Zechs's expression turned sympathetic. "I don't think any of us did," he said with a slight, rueful twist of his lips. He paused for a moment. "Come over for dinner tomorrow night." "What?" Trowa felt like a bit of an idiot, having to question that. He was just tired enough that he wondered if he was already asleep. "Dinner at my home. Duo's on assignment in New York for the next few weeks, and I despise cooking for just myself. Come over." It was somewhere between a request and an order, and Trowa had the entirely inappropriate question of whether or not Zechs ever begged. He wondered if Duo managed to make Zechs beg, or if it was also Zechs making Duo ask for it, like he had that night in the library in Sanc. Trowa felt his face flush as Zechs continued to look at him. He needed to escape. He needed to sleep. He needed to stop thinking about the two of them together, and especially to stop fantasizing about the three of them. "Alright," he said, and Zechs nodded. "My secretary will send you the address. Now go home. And do not come back before tomorrow morning. Or I'll follow up on Sokolov's suggestion and put you on administrative leave." -o- Chapter 4 |
