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"Deep Cover"Written By: Karen The Huntress Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its
characters Rating: R Warnings: language, angst, suspense, lemon Pairings: 1x2, 2x1 Summary: Any way you look at it a whole lotta
shit can happen in four months. Hair trigger hazards of a covert solo
mission and danger zooms into the red zone. "Deep Cover"
Part One ****** Four months.
Or Sixteen weeks.
Or 121.7475 days.
Any way you look at it a whole lotta shit can happen in four months. Hair trigger hazards of a covert solo mission and danger zooms into the red zone.
True to his utterly predictable no-one-can-do-it-but-me mindset Heero volunteered for a deep cover assignment.
Mission Summary: Disgruntled Preventer agent turned freelance mercenary. Proficient expertise in unauthorized information retrieval, ghostly surveillance and stealthy assassinations beneficial to the Red Dragon Syndicate.
Secure encryptions, embedded in sufficient layers to convince Syndicate hackers the data is authentic, disclose an extensive dossier of bogus criminal records, fictitious Earth/Colonial arrest warrants and six aliases. Contrived actualities substantiate the guise that Heero Yuy—aka Lone Wolf—had indeed gone rogue.
So it began.
The malevolent whirlpool that could suck Heero under so deep he might never surface above the swamping currents.
****** ~Duo Maxwell~
I'm pissed off.
Without prior discussion of an ambiguous timeframe, Heero accepted the risky infiltration of a prime Asian crime consortium. Another factor not taken into consideration. Akira Komura, chief commander of the drug trafficking and gun running monopoly, is guarded by ex-OZ Special Ops commandos.
Betcha the ruthless Ozzies would relish revenge on a Gundam pilot!
After two years of cohabitation with the introversive Perfect Solider I shouldn't come to terms with our lack of communications. Optimistic expectations Heero would question orders issued by impotent bureaucrats eager for political advancement is fuckin' foolish.
Heero has made concerted efforts to overcome Doctor J's absolute submissive indoctrination and stop seeking atonement for past mistakes. Trusting me to unconditionally guard his heart. That wall isn't as high.
Four months can stretch on forever. Heero and I have only twenty-four hours before he's required to sever all contacts with Preventer and me.
Last night together.
No intimate dinner. No shagging like horny rabbits, choruses of passion moans and screams of orgasmic release. No sated pillow talk to ease into the lengthy angst-ridden separation.
No, reverted to reclusive mode, Heero sat at the kitchen table, nibbling on a smoked ham and cheddar sandwich and washing down the crumbs with three bottles of Guinness. It was midnight before he stopped pecking on that fuckin' laptop.
Should've aired my frustrations, confronted Heero's fixation on duty-bound obligations to rid the entire universe of wicked transgressors.
I contemplated raising Hell, resurrecting Shinigami and beating his stoic ass. Didn't want our last night marred by words shouted in anger or physical alterations that bruised bodies and etched scars on souls.
Instead I suppressed the apprehensive panic, entombed fear of possibly losing my comrade and lover so deep nothing could exhume the cavernous despondency.
I'm definitely in no position to cast moral stones. Thievery ensured childhood survival. Trading sexual favors for food, shelter or bribes to stay outta jail defined my adolescence. Even Father Maxwell and his priestly entreatments failed to make this incorrigible sinner repent.
War offered no better redemption. Cloaked in Deathscythe Hell's gundanium armor I perpetuated the masquerade of immortality. Enfolded in ebony demon wings I dealt destruction. Every slice of twin Beam Scythes metered out swift vengeance on both enemies and innocence victims of the retaliatory insurgency codenamed Operation Meteor.
Maybe Heero's precarious danse macabre with the Red Dragon is penance for countless injustices I've wrought. Perhaps he's condemned to suffer for my reckless disregard of honorable warfare. Winning at all costs. End justifies the means.
Then again, most likely, Fate has a really fucked up sense of humor.
****** ~Silence~
If Commander Une gleamed information from her network of informants she ain't sharing any glimmer of hope with me. Personal attempts to gain knowledge of Heero's tenuous situation also resulted in dead ends.
The apartment is too quiet. Noisy distractions don't do the trick. No desire to switch on the television or listen to my classic CD collection of "oldies but goodies".
Need to hear Heero's voice, even if he's complaining about the latest naïve rookies assigned to his unit. I yearn to be lulled to sleep by his steady breathing or know by his relaxed sigh I've massaged the remnants of tension from overstressed muscles.
Logged considerable overtime these past weeks. Frequently showered and slept in the agents' lounge just to avoid going back to that damn dismal apartment. If the situation was reversed Heero would've put up a more credible facade, exuded confidence that everything was all right. I'm not as skilled at masking emotions.
****** The sixteenth week started as uneventful as the preceding hourly measure of days and nights.
Monday. Routine reports.
Tuesday and Wednesday crept by at a snail's pace.
Took night duty to utilize Preventer extensive eavesdropping resources, including the Stargazer 700 Surveillance Satellite, to track electronic residues, purchase credits, any trace that might give clues to Heero's enigmatic whereabouts.
Thursday afternoon.
Une summons me to her office.
"Yuy made contact." the Commander states matter-of-factly which intensifies my resentment of her nonchalant attitude to dangerous levels.
Been on the receiving end of strict disciplinary procedures. I suppress the impulse to vent my irritation, instead, "Has he obtained substantive evidence to launch an offensive?" is inquired with deceptive composure.
"More than enough." Une confirms, "Agent Chang is assembling a strike force team in Ready Room 3. Prepare to depart in ninety minutes." tbc...
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