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"Work Ethics"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: R Warnings: Humor, Crack, Implied Sexual Content,
mild violence, Implied Violence, Post Endless Waltz, Preventers, Bickering Pairings: 3x4 Summary: People always said the Gundam pilots
were the best at what they did, but that didn’t necessarily mean
they were the most professional. "Work Ethics " Wufei curled his hands into fists and propped them on his hips as he looked over the would-be assassin’s body with a critical eye. The man was perhaps middle aged, maybe a little younger. Mid-thirties was his best guess. The creases around his eyes were a little more prominent than most in that age range, but that appeared to be more a result of excessive sun exposure. His beard was rather long and shaggy, sprinkled with gray which gave it a distinct salt and pepper look, but what was most disturbing to Wufei was the fact that the assailant’s dead eyes were fixed skyward while the rest of his body was sprawled belly-down across the floor. It was a wonder Barton hadn’t twisted his head clean off. Wufei glanced over to his right to see the hero of the day consoling the target of the attempted assassination about a dozen meters away, though Winner didn’t seem too thrilled by the coddling. Fortunately for the young CEO, Barton just happened to be visiting him on his lunch break when the assailant attacked. “I’m fine, Trowa! Good god,” the blond tycoon griped, batting away the hands that fluttered over his person as Barton checked him over for any hidden injuries. He jumped three feet into the air with an undignified yelp when Barton’s hand disappeared behind him and snapped, “Did you just cop a feel?” “No,” Barton answered, sounding a little too defensive to Wufei’s ears. Apparently Winner wasn’t buying it either and shoved him away irritably. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Aren’t you supposed to be helping your partners secure the scene?” Winner glanced at Wufei over Barton’s shoulder and held his gaze, his blue eyes pleading for him to give his boyfriend something else to do besides fuss over him. “Barton,” Wufei ordered sharply. “Get your ass over here.” Indeed there was protocol to follow and since Barton had been the one to take out the assailant, he was going to have to undergo a series of examinations including, but not limited to, a psych evaluation. Nothing personal, of course. Just standard procedure. Barton lingered at the blond’s side until Quatre was all but forced to pull a weapon on him to get him moving. Wufei stifled a laugh at the dejected look on the tall man’s face as he approached. He turned his attention back to the body only to find Maxwell crouched beside it, poking at the dead assailant’s side with a stick. “Maxwell, what the hell are you doing?” “What?” “Stop poking the body.” “I’m not ‘poking’ it. I’m…” he paused as he tried to think up an excuse that wouldn’t make him sound unprofessional. “I’m making sure he’s dead.” “We’ve already established that, Maxwell. Do you not see that the guy’s head is on backwards? Where the hell did you even get a stick from anyway?” Maxwell jerked his thumb over his shoulder and Wufei spotted a rather large, tropical looking tree standing several feet away from the lobby’s stately fountain. “I thought that thing was fake.” Maxwell snorted. “Are you serious? You really think Quat would have a fake tree in his lobby?” Wufei’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “That’s a banyan tree,” he whispered with awed reverence. “That particular species only grows in Sri Lanka.” He whistled, impressed. “They’re extremely rare and difficult to take care of. That thing must have cost an arm and a leg.” He stepped closer and craned his neck to see all the way up to the top, a massive five stories tall. “These things can produce a massive number of figs during each cultivation when given the proper treatment.” He turned his head when he heard Duo snicker behind him, his brows drawing low in consternation. “What’s so funny?” Maxwell stood up and tossed the stick aside. “You are such a geek.” Wufei bristled and stomped over to him, grabbing the stick off the floor and shaking it in Maxwell’s face. “And you are an uncivilized lout who thinks a six pack of cheap American beer and a large pizza with the works is the epitome of ‘class’.” He sniffed and pressed the tip of the stick into Maxwell’s chest. “And you just defiled a highly coveted tree so you could poke a dead body like some twelve year old who just discovered roadkill.” Maxwell snarled and yanked the stick out of his hand. “And you are the most pretentious, uptight snob I’ve ever met in my life. You wouldn’t know a good time if Liberace himself slapped you across the face with a pair of ruffled panties -” Wufei lifted a disdainful brow. “Liberace?” “That’s right. Mmm-hmm.” Maxwell nodded emphatically, his expression showing no trace of humor. “You mean that fruity guy with the funny hair?” Maxwell sputtered in outrage. “He was only one of the most talented musicians of all time.” “Guys -” “Stay out of this, Barton,” Wufei snapped at the other man, though he kept his eyes focused on Maxwell whose face was turning an unflattering shade of crimson. “You are a Preventer. Act like it. Every stupid, childish thing you do reflects badly on all of us. Grow up.” “Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who fell asleep during briefing this morning. Ha! You’re one to talk.” “I - I was - I didn’t sleep well last night, okay?” Wufei could feel the last of his tenuous self-control begin to unravel, but he was quickly reaching the point of no return. No one got under his skin quite like Maxwell did. His partner had an uncanny gift of draining even the most patient of men. And patience was not something Wufei was blessed with. “I am a billion times more professional than you are.” “Guys -” Maxwell turned to Barton, a sneer curling his upper lip. “Do you mind, Tro? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of a discussion with Señor Tightass over here.” Wufei’s body went rigid with fury. “How dare you! I’m of half a mind to knock your lights out, so you’d better just watch -” His head swung to the side before he could finish his scathing retort and his jaw went slack with numb shock. He teetered on feet that were suddenly unsteady, black eyes dizzily rolling behind fluttering lashes. A moment later, he dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks, landing beside the dead assailant in an ungainly sprawl. Trowa and Duo stared bug-eyed at the petite blond man, still clad in a dapper three-piece suit. Quatre would have looked like a kid playing dress-up in his father’s clothes if not for the fact that his suit was perfectly tailored to fit his body and must have cost at least five grand. Duo threw his head back, unleashing a loud, abrasive cackle that bounced off the walls of the now empty lobby. “Oh my god, Quat! Hoooo boy! Never thought I’d see the day when Professor Stick-In-the-Mud finally got his comeuppance. Oh, man. That was awesome. I just wish I had a camera to record this momentous occas -” Ka-POW! Maxwell’s raucous guffaws abruptly ceased, followed by the meaty thud of his body as he hit the floor a few seconds later. Trowa stared at Quatre, stunned. “I had no idea you could -” “What?” Quatre narrowed his eyes at him, dark with challenge. Whoa! Okay, time to back that train up to the station and reevaluate the situation before you wind up sporting a shiner. “I mean, I - I’ve never seen you take anyone out like that before.” True to Quatre’s nature, his face pinked with guilt. “I had to do something. The situation was escalating and the press is on their way. I couldn’t let this infantile display get out to the public. Une would have all of our heads.” Indeed. That was some good, quick thinking on Quatre’s part. Damage control was of the utmost importance, not only for him, but for the Preventers. Trowa’s amazement was quickly giving way to an uncontrollable ardor. Fuck, if his boyfriend opening a can of whoop ass wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “That was kick ass.” Quatre smirked and looked down at the man who’d tried to kill him. “You didn’t do too bad yourself there, stud.” “Where did you learn that right hook?” “Heero,” the blond said with a casual shrug. “He taught me some self-defense maneuvers while we were holed up in Sanq during the war. Just never really had the chance to use them until now.” Unf. Knees weak with desire, Trowa bit his lip, leaning closer until his mouth brushed his love's ear. “How long until the press gets here?” Quatre glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes, or so. They can’t come in though since the building’s on lockdown. I’ll go out and make a statement after I talk to Une.” He glanced up at Trowa and balked as he caught the heady gleam in his lover’s eyes, the pulsing dilation of his pupils. “Oh, Jesus. Did that actually turn you on?” Far too horny to be embarrassed, Trowa nodded in affirmation, feeling absurdly like an eager puppy who’d just gotten his owner’s attention. “Backup will take another twenty five, thirty.” He nudged his chin at his two unconscious colleagues. “How long will they be out?” “Long enough,” Quatre answered, his voice taking on the familiar lilt that Trowa now associated with arousal. “Where should we -” “There’s a restroom right over there.” He gave his lover a lecherous grin as they made their way across the lobby. “Bathroom quickie. Kinky. I like it.” “It’ll do in a pinch. Don’t get used to it, lover boy. And if you ruin my suit, you’re covering the dry cleaning cost.” “I can’t believe we’re actually going to fuck with your dead attacker only a few feet away.” Quatre gave him a sly wink as he pushed the door open. “This is nothing. Wait until tax season.”
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