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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Deffinately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to Dulin for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options" Chapter189 2nd March AC 198 Colony L1 - 0025 B [La Grange point 1. Serial number 0025 B ] Preventer Building Time : 06:57 [approx Sanc time 05:47] Trowa Why were medical centres always white? It was a question he had had cause to ponder on innumerable occasions when, in the course of his duties, he had accrued injuries which required treatment from someone who had more than a rudimentary skill in stitching a person back together. It had not always been a decent medical clinic though; on occasion it was a rough and ready combat tent full of sweaty men, dirt and enough germs to make a doctor cringe. He had survived the crude and rough and ready and now enjoyed a white painted, supposedly germ free medical clinic, courtesy of Preventers funding. At least the why of the standard white gave him something to consider while he was poked, prodded and stabbed. The prick of the needle entering into his back produced a flinch he could not quite control. It was not the pain, that was negligible amidst the aches and pains his sojourn on the roof had left him with. It was not the pain but the fact that he hated needles and was quite convinced on most occasions that the needle hurt worse than the ailment being treated. In his view the only good thing about this particular needle was that, in a very short time, he would no longer feel the pain in his back. Although the numbness that came with the local anaesthetic would be as distracting as the pain. The medic, a tall thin man with thinning hair and a disturbingly cheerful look on his face, moved past him to discard the used syringe in a kidney dish for later disposal. It would not take long for the local anaesthetic to work, numbing the area around the piece of metal imbedded in his back and then Trowa could look forward to getting his butt out of the clinic and back to work. “You are fortunate, Mr. Barton. It could have been much worse.” As if he did not already know that. He didn’t need the medic reminding him just how lucky he was to be alive. He could, and possibly should, have been a corpse imitating a pin cushion whilst decorating the roof of the building. He should have been dead and not safely ensconced in the infirmary receiving attention to his myriad of minor ailments. Medics could be such ghouls. Given half the chance the man would begin reading him a list of his injuries and Trowa knew them all. He could feel them, he did not need to be told about them by a medic who, like all other medics, would be disturbingly cheerful and make light of the gravity of his wounds… unless, of course, one happened to be bleeding one’s life out at the time. They were serious enough then, gentle handed and quick to act. The soldiers best friend. He had decided within thirty seconds of arriving in the infirmary that this medic was a ghoul. The man seemed to like inflicting an inordinate amount of pain on his patient during the initial examination. Ex combat medic, Trowa decided, not one of those city trained interns who did not know what it was to stitch a wound under less than hygienic conditions; jab a man with a needle full of antibiotics, slap a bandage on the wound and send him back to the fighting without blinking. Of course it was not the man who attended to his wounds that was the problem, but the situation and the fact that Trowa saw the entire mess as a failure on his part. He had failed to stop the hit from taking place, gotten himself wounded in the process and, instead of pursuing the matter further, he needed to waste time by getting his wounds attended to. There was sure to be someone else who had taken damage from the explosion and subsequent fall of debris that this medic could be prodding. He was taking the medic away from someone who might be more seriously injured and it was not as though he had not operated under the handicap of greater wounds than those he carried now. As soon as a pair of boots had arrived on the roof, Jonas had given him a hand donning them, slapping his hands away when he would have taken them and bent down to put them on. Admonishing him he had a piece of metal sticking out of his back, Jonas had bent to fit the boots to his feet and sent him off to the infirmary to have it removed. They did not like it when they were targeted and this assault on Preventer headquarters itself had every agent on high alert. They would be all over the complex like a rash, examining every nook and cranny for anything which might remotely offer them some clue as to the identity of the hit man. They needed to know who he was, where he had come from, who employed him; and above all, why. Was he after a particular person or, as Trowa privately suspected, the labs and morgue? He could not dismiss from his mind that young boy dying in the alley. There was something there, he was sure of it, that would lead him to deep, dark and very dirty secrets. He still had a debriefing to attend with the designated L1 Commander. He needed to sort out his impressions and get the sequence of events in order for his oral presentation. He was going to need to commit it to a written report, but that would have to wait until his hurts were tended and he had spoken to the Commander, and, if he was lucky, he managed to get a little shuteye. He needed to sort out how to phrase matters so that it would not sound outlandishly like a dream had led to his waking up and hunting a hunter. The Commander was ex military who had seen action, as most of them were, and would understand a soldier’s instinct that something was wrong, that was not too much of a problem, but other things were not so straight forward. He would need to put forward his own suppositions and not have it sound like something out of a science fiction novel. The dream suggested a link between the assassin and the dead boy, but he could not say that; he could not include it in his report. What he wanted to do was dive into the investigation, get it done and then get his backside Earthside and seek his lover’s embrace. Had Quatre felt anything of his emotions from this distance? Surely they were too far apart for that peculiar talent of his lover’s to disturb him? //As if. He will know something happened and I will need to get word to him that I am alright.// There was so much he needed to do, and he was stuck in the infirmary with a doctor who seemed to be taking his time about treating his injuries. Grousing about it would likely result in the man taking an even longer time. He had learned to read medics over the years, some could not get you treated fast enough and out the door, some took their sweet time and nattered on about nothing and others were slow and methodical and blessedly silent. This man appeared to be the latter, thorough in his work, strict in his discipline and no nonsense. If he so much as twitched toward the door before he was dismissed Trowa knew he could have a fight on his hands and the bastard was armed with an entire infirmary full of needles. No, it would not be worth the hassle, not even for something to do. He needed to ascertain how far the investigation had progressed in the time it had taken him to reach the infirmary and receive treatment. Jonas was a good man, thorough and not prone to rushing things. He would supervise and keep his investigators on their toes. He had given Jonas the name Washington to puzzle over, explaining he had heard the hit man mention the name on initially arriving on the roof. After his boots had arrived, just before he had departed the roof, he had suggested Jonas have the medical examiner check the corpse for computer chip implants. ————————————— * “Implants?” Jonas arched an eyebrow as he turned to Trowa. “Why implants?” He was uncertain as to how much was safe to say. Not all Preventers had been informed of the case a few months previously, where they had come across a hidden laboratory and Romefeller’s genetically altered experiments. It was a delicate subject and he needed to be discrete, or chance having Lady Une reverting to her Colonel persona. “It could be related to another case on Earth I investigated a few months ago. There was a body found here yesterday which was slated for autopsy this morning. It is possible the victim of the alley killing may have been associated with that other case. If it is, certain people would not want the body investigated. It’s a tenuous link, I know, but there’s a possibility the two incidents are related and I can’t ignore it. Let’s just say that I would be happy if the results of the autopsy come back negative.” Jonas whistled softly. “Big implication, huh?” “Very big.” * —————————————- He did not want to face questioning from anyone on the colony on the seeming leap he had made in associating a rocket launcher toting hit man intent on destroying a building, with the boy in a back alley. He certainly could not reveal his suspicions all hinged on a dream, but he was not inclined to dismiss the dream. Not any more. Quatre would be delighted. He could not afford to dismiss any possible links to the genetic laboratories Preventers had raided on Earth. If there were more of them on the colonies… Une would not be happy. “You should be nicely numb now.” Now that his attention was drawn back to his aches and pains, he noted the greatest source of pain was lacking in intensity. The medic was behind him again, a kidney dish of instruments resting on the bed beside Trowa. He could feel the man was doing something, probing and pulling, but he could not feel any discomfort. No pain was a blessed relief, but the medic could have at least offered him something which might have eased the other myriad of aches and pains his abused body suffered. He resisted the urge to rub his bare feet together for something to do. He’d look too much like a little boy waiting to be chastised for getting hurt if he did. He and his fellow Gundam Pilots were all well aware of how young they were, as opposed to the vast majority of ex service men and women manning Preventers. To be sure there were others who were young, particularly those who had been training with the Oz Specials. The Specials had taken them in when they were barely teenagers, young and impressionable and turned out young and competent soldiers. Amidst their ranks there had been more than the odd exceptional soldier. It was one of the reasons why the Doctors had targeted Khushrenada’s Oz Specials, Trowa suspected. Une made use of her younger agents in a myriad of ways, particularly in the undercover operations targeting those cases involving University aged students and drug related crimes. The police forces of the world lacked the young agents Preventers had snapped up under Une’s guiding hand. Requests for undercover Preventers on major operations where they needed to gather critical evidence in hard to access areas older agents simply could not enter without arousing suspicion were not uncommon. Trowa had done his share of undercover stings in combined operations since joining Preventers. Of course the instances were limited per agent, Une was careful not to overuse her younger agents and allow their faces to become known. For all the woman had a hard reputation, and she had seemed almost insane during the war, she did take care of her people. He was sitting on the padded table the physician insisted on calling a bed, wearing nothing but a pair of regulation boxers, which he hated, with a blanket draped loosely about him for warmth. The lack of clothing permitted the medic free access to his injuries and on his arrival he had been stripped and the medic had washed him down carefully as he had noted each injury requiring his attention. His boots had been stripped from him first and his feet checked and bathed in disinfectant, a few slivers of glass, metal and wood fragments were removed and his feet had been lightly bandaged, just enough to keep dirt from the wounds. To be honest he had been surprised just how many splinters and fragments he had picked up in his feet. He had not felt any of the minor wounds after all. His scraped thigh and numerous bruises and cuts had been cleaned and treated to the point where they hurt worse than they had before he had arrived at the infirmary. All in all, he was more than eager to make good his escape. He glanced to the side at the clang below his elbow and studied the jagged piece of metal lying in a kidney dish. He supposed he had been a lot luckier than he had first thought. The piece was longer and more viciously jagged than he had assumed it would be, and could have done considerably more damage to him than it had. Had he been hit by it anywhere along his spine it might have severed his spinal cord, and should it have side swiped his neck it might have torn out his jugular. He really wished Quatre was here where he could see him, touch him. There was a lot to be said for a cuddle from Quatre Winner, it was quite therapeutic. He fought down the shudder and bit his lip, staring at the offending shrapnel as a second piece, a sliver of metal, was added to the dish. The larger piece was a good five inches long, all its edges jagged and killing sharp, and with numerous edges warped enough to deserve the description of being barbed. He was thankful he was numb, given he could feel the medic was still probing at the wound and he was sure there was liquid, hot and thick, sliding down his back. Blood, he knew. “Much still in there?” “Just a few smaller pieces you could well do without, Mr. Barton.” The medic sounded distracted and Trowa could feel him probing and working at something in his back. A quick swab of cloth took care of the trickle of blood he could feel and he closed his eyes, forcing himself not to think of what the man was doing. He knew what was being done, after all; he’d dug metal out of a mercenary’s back in the past. Clang. Smaller pieces? Trowa sighed softly, that one looked to be nearly half an inch long. At least the third and fourth pieces to clatter into the dish in relatively quick succession were nothing more than slivers. “That looks much better. I’ll just do a bit of cleaning up and disinfect the wound before I begin stitching. I would appreciate you not being overly energetic until after the stitches have had a chance of doing their job. I’ll prescribe a course of antibiotics as well, pick up the pills before you leave the infirmary; the dispensary is open. Now you are sure you had a tetanus shot last year?” “I’m up to date on all of my inoculations.” Une made certain of that and had Sally Po keep an eye on their medical records to ensure not the smallest detail was missed. The woman would be quick to jump on his medical records when the computers flagged he had required treatment. A grunt was all the answer he felt inclined to make as the medic busied himself at the wound and Trowa closed his eyes, wishing he could afford the time to sleep. He was, however, afraid to. If he slept the nightmares might return. There was no Quatre to hold him while he gathered the courage to sleep here. He was alone, there was no one he could trust the way he could trust his former comrades. He was not ready to think about the dreams that might haunt him if he dared to relax enough to sleep. What he needed was distraction. Debriefing would do it, much as he was not looking forward to the inevitable dancing around he would need to do when he faced the head of operations. He could get some food into him, that was safe enough and he certainly was hungry, and he could make a start on his own investigation. If he was lucky he might be able to gain a few hours of distraction before his body demanded he get rest. The adrenaline surge was gone now and he felt the pain and discomfort of his wounds, but he was not ready to collapse from exhaustion and that might be the only thing that kept the dreams at bay. “Agent Chameleon.” Well, this was a first. An agent went to the Head of Operations and debriefed, the Head of Operations did not attend the agent, unless they were on their death bed. He was not planning on dying in the next few years, so why was he graced with the man’s presence? The L1 Commander nodded briefly to the medic who was suturing Trowa’s back and studied the young agent. The Commander looked tired, Trowa decided, and he wondered what disaster had happened, or what information the investigators had discovered to warrant this appearance. The man pinched the bridge of his nose, appearing to gather his thoughts as he watched the medic work before sighing and straightening his spine. “I know you were intending to leave this morning, but I have to request you delay your departure, at least for a few hours.” Trowa had expected to delay his departure from L1; it stood to reason he would probably be forced to delay up to a full day or more, depending on whether or not he was assigned to investigate the incident. “I was intending to debrief as soon as I was finished here.” The man inclined his head in acknowledgement and waved his hand negligently. “I know that is the normal protocol in a case such as this, however, matters have become a little more complicated.” That sounded anything but good. Trowa straightened his spine, ignored the medic’s admonishment to keep still, and braced for the storm. “What’s the problem?” The man shrugged slightly and looked hard at Trowa. “Your watch dog has been found.” Ah. The stance of the man made the question unnecessary, but Trowa could not avoid it. It had to be asked, the dead deserved that much, even if when living the man had been an intrusion in his life. A symbol of the governments distrust. Still, Trowa could have screamed in frustration. Dead the man would probably prove to be more of a nuisance than he had been alive. “Dead?” “Very. A precise single strike through the back of the neck with the proverbial sharp instrument, a knife most likely. The weapon has not as yet been located, though I am of a mind to think one of the hit man’s weapons will match the wound.” “Damn.” It was all he could think to say for the moment. The ESUN Security Agency would want a full investigation into the death and he could not blame them. It was a simple baby sitting job turned horribly wrong, and they would want someone to blame. Trowa, given his past activities, would naturally fall under suspicion, meaning another delay in returning to Earth and Quatre. “Indeed. I will need to notify the Security Agency, but I wanted to speak to you first. How many agents are usually assigned to tail you?” The suture needle clanged into the kidney dish, the sharp sound startling Trowa into a flinch and the medic reached for antibiotic powder to dust over the wound. He was a veteran, accustomed to the pecking order and protocols of command situations, and gave no visible indication of listening to the dialogue. He attended to his business as though Agent Griffin was not present, and no word spoken here would be passed on to other unauthorized ears. “There are three agents I have tagged.” There might have been more, certainly in the early days after the war there had been more, but with his good behaviour their numbers had lessened until he was graced with only the three shadows. There were two teams of three assigned to him, the teams alternating and spelling the other team. At first he had resented their intrusion into his life and he had enjoyed running them to their limits, simply to prove to them he knew who they were. He had grown up a little since the war ended and, other than note their presence, he now left them alone. “Three. Do you know if they work on a roster system?” “Usually, yes. I had retired for the night, so their routine would mean two agents would rest while the third observed the building.” It would have been so incredibly easy to slip away without his tail noticing, but he could not be fussed. He was not up to anything which required he tweak the nose of the ESUN, so why bother to make the effort? “Then thankfully we are not likely to run across any further bodies we need to explain to the powers that be. We will need to learn the location of their digs and inform them of their associate’s demise. No doubt they have protocol’s which will be required to be attended to.” Prime amongst said protocols would be to round up one Trowa Barton and make him sing, Trowa mused. That was sure to delay what needed to be done, but did he dare avoid their interrogation? He would have to think about it, but he could at least offer some assistance in finding them, if they were not already on their way, given the explosion that had taken place. The media was all over the site, trying to get interviews and interesting footage, causing the investigators problems they did not need. “Check the mid range hotels available within a four block radius of the complex. They work to a budget, but they don’t favour the seedier side of things. They should not be too hard to find, given how public this incident has been.” “Thank you. I was under the impression that when pursuing your duties as a Preventer you were unobserved by the watch dogs.” Trowa snorted and inclined his head. Yes, he was usually cut loose from their observations when assigned to a mission, in the interests of safety for the other Preventers involved on a case and the case itself. “I should be, yes, but it would appear delivering messages for Preventer Earth is not considered worthy of mission status. Have there been any instructions received from Preventer Earth?” “Communications with the Sanc headquarters is almost non existent at this time. There is a storm shutting down much of the European sector’s communications grid and it is expected to continue throughout the day. The weather pictures of the Earth right now are rather spectacular. Just about the last place on the Earth I would like to be at the present time is Sanc and the surrounding countries.” “No communications with Sanc Headquarters at all?” “Communications is sketchy, but we do get moments when the storm weakens enough to allow for satellite communications to take place. Accelerated, coded and pre recorded is best, to have a chance of being received before the storm clouds thicken enough to cut communications again. I’m afraid a live conversation is pretty much impossible at the moment. There is no certainty how long we will have even that much communication, given reports are coming in of equipment failure due to the extreme cold. There are whispers of it being the ‘storm of the century’. Southern Sweden has reported the structural collapse of a school and major highways are closed, isolating entire communities in the Northern European sector.” That was unfortunate, Trowa mused. If the Security Agents took offence at the death of one of their own they might get a little tetchy with him, and he would not have the security of a quick call to Lady Une to have them reminded of their place. Not that he had anything to do with the death, nor could he have likely done anything to spare the man. Trowa suspected he was dead long before Trowa suspected there was an intruder in the complex. “Until I hear otherwise from Preventer Earth, I will follow my mission brief and the ongoing brief relating to that earlier case I mentioned. We have a standing brief to investigate any hint of further activities by those responsible for the case.” Trowa tested the movement in his shoulder as the medic prepared a dressing, pleased he appeared to have almost a full range of movement. “I believe I requested you restrain yourself from exercising that shoulder.” Trowa stifled a sigh. When he departed the infirmary he would test his shoulder properly, but for now he would humour the medic. As the man applied the dressing Trowa glanced at the smirking Commander. “We found a key on the hit man. Any luck tracing it yet?” “I would imagine it will lead to the shuttle port. It looks like one of the port locker keys to me; one of the public lockers would be my guess, but I have a trace running. It could be another hour before we get any results as we have to beg cooperation with the local constabulary for laboratory and computer time. The explosion took down our mainframe and it will be hours before we get access restored.” It was time to ask ‘that’ question, the one he had been trying to avoid. How badly had he failed? How many people would pay the price for his failure? How many new faces would he see in his nightmares; how many new victims did he attribute to his killers hands? “Were there many casualties?” He wanted the man to say there were no fatalities and only minor cuts or bruises. He wanted the man to shrug and say no one had been hurt at all, but he was not such a fool to entertain the thought. The missile, small as it had been, had had quite a payload and there had been volatile chemicals in the labs and morgue. Trowa was sure the missile’s payload would have been chosen to have the maximum effect on its environment, accentuating the chaos and destruction, ensuring the evidence, whatever or whoever that might have been, was destroyed. “We were fortunate, thanks to your timely warning. With the exception of your watch dog, whom I suspect died as the hit man was accessing the complex, there have been no fatalities. There are a number of serious injuries, nothing life threatening, I am assured by the hospitals handling the triage, and there are a host of minor cuts, scrapes and abrasions. So far we have fifteen employees unaccounted for.” Griffin shifted his weight, straightening from his slouch against the door frame. “I’ll need a written report from you as soon as you can manage it.” “You’ll have it. You will need to use the local constabulary’s facilities for everything?” “Unfortunately. Until the forensics units finishes going through the damaged sections we can’t start the clean up. I’m hoping to get at least one of the labs to a usable condition within a week. Thankfully the hierarchy of the local Police Force are not being difficult about this. They don’t like their colony being shot up and so far they have not cast the blame for this at us, though I don’t suppose that will last. I can look forward to a difficult few months ahead while we rebuild; and relocating services in the interim is not something I am looking forward to.” He knew it would not be much of an assist, but it was something to offer the man in furthering the investigation. He just needed to be careful of what he said and how he said it. He needed to tread a fine line, and Une would have his head if he came out and mentioned the possible link to a past case that involved Romefeller and genetic manipulation. The medic moved past him, rummaged through a cupboard and produced a fat roll of gauze bandage and a clip to secure it, before returning to his patient and positioning Trowa’s arm to allow him to wrap the wound comfortably. “From where I was standing it looked as though he was aiming specifically for the floors that were hit. I suspect he hit exactly what he intended to.” Griffin nodded. “It would not surprise me. We have a number of particularly sensitive cases which would rely heavily on forensic data. Much of that information will be ruined, but hopefully we can salvage something from the chaos. At least some of the data will be on the main frame on Earth and we can access it when we have this mess sorted out. The sprinkler system reduced much of the damage the fire would have caused, but water damage can be worse than fire.” The medic broke the protective cover on an adhesive bandage, a field dressing, Trow noted, and set it beside the kidney dish, adding a bottle of gel to the pile. Trowa watched the small pile of equipment absently and then focused on the bottle, glancing at the medic warily. “Regen gel?” “I’ve applied a bio pad to the wound and the stitches are of the self dissolving variety. A good squirt of regen gel over the bio pad will assist the healing. I’m well aware you field agents treat wounds of this nature as minor inconveniences, Barton. At least this way I know the wound will have a good start toward healing when you take off on yet another mission. If you are out of my jurisdiction in a week’s time, and I know you will be, you will get yourself to the nearest Preventer medical facility and get the bio pad replaced. Two weeks should have the muscle suitably regenerated and the wound sealed, but do no push your limits for the next three days, is that understood?” “Sure, Doc.” Trowa was caught by surprise when he had to stifle a yawn. Suddenly he was bone aching tired and all he wanted to do was find a quiet and safe place to sleep. It was a result of the aftermath of high adrenaline use he knew, and it was unfortunate it was so soon after the action and the memory of the nightmares was too fresh for him to indulge his body's need to sleep. “You look like you could do with a few hours sleep,” Agent Griffon commented, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of voices before turning back to Trowa. “I’m sorry, but I need a report from you before then.” The medic snorted and applied the gel carefully over the bio pad which Trowa had initially mistaken for a dressing before applying the field dressing over the now blue pad. “The man should be in a hospital bed for a night, not gallivanting around the compound giving reports.” “Needs must, Doc.” Griffon grinned. “I was going to get something to eat from the cafeteria and then report for debriefing,” Trowa offered, wincing as the medic repositioned his arm as he began to wind the gauze bandage around his shoulder and waist in a complicated twist designed to stop the bandage from riding up with movement. “I could do with something to eat; never did get to eat breakfast,” Griffon sighed. “I’ll order something to be brought up from the cafeteria. I have a temporary office set up in the hostel block, so you won’t have to go far when you do get the chance to sleep. I’ll meet you there as soon as you are done here and you can debrief. I understand you heard the perp mention a name?” “Yes, when I first found him on the roof. He did not know I was present and I am certain he said the name ‘Washington’.” “Washington? Well, I will see about finding the rest of your watchdogs and notifying their keepers about the loss of their man. I have to admit I am somewhat surprised the other two agents have not, as yet, put in an appearance. It is not as though this has not been all over the news and that explosion would have been heard…” Griffon's pager chose that moment to buzz and the man reached for the phone set on the wall near the door. He punched in his code and listened for a moment, seeming to deflate in on himself and Trowa could not miss his unhappy expression. “Show them to my field office and I will be right down.” Hanging up the receiver he half turned to meet Trowa’s steady gaze and the medic’s curious look. “How long can you keep Barton in here without lying about the treatment?” “How long do you need?” “Thirty minutes should do it.” “We can play a round of Crib,” the medic grinned. “I should learn to keep my big mouth shut.” Griffon shrugged. “I have two unhappy Security Agency watch dogs disrupting the operation. When you finish here get something to eat and I’ll find you. Do what you need to to stay clear of those two assholes who are disrupting my people. Given the uncertainty of the situation I am officially placing you under active mission status and packing them off to Earth at the first opportunity.” Trowa could have kissed the man. Quatre would have forgiven him one earnest kiss of gratitude. With him officially on active mission status the ESUN Security Agency had no option but to back off while he actively worked an investigation. The only downside to the decision was that Trowa could see his chances of returning to Earth deteriorating rapidly.
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