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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 ShenLong for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options" Chapter 196 2nd March AC 198 Colony L1 - 0025 B [La Grange point 1. Serial number 0025 B ] Preventer Building Time: 07:15 [approx Sanc time 06:14] Trowa Trowa decided he would be grateful to get his weight off his feet. Now that his feet had been attended to, the splinters removed and dirt cleaned out of his assorted wounds and light bandaging applied to keep the wounds clean, his feet insisted on hurting like hell. On the walk over from the cafeteria he had come to the conclusion that injuries to the feet had to be the most painful wounds one could sustain. It was as well he had no set time to be anywhere and could trundle along at his own pace, because he seriously doubted he could manage more than a shuffle at present. The medic who had attended to his wounds had given him a pair of soft moccasins with the admonishment not to wear his combat boots for the next few days and he was only to happy to wear the soft shoes. At his back he could hear the shouts of the fire fighters calling to one another and the voices of the investigators dealing with the still burning building. He had heard enough to gather the general consensus was that the damage was not enough to take down the entire building. A quick word to the Fire Chief as he had passed by informed him the main fire was extinguished; the attending crews were now checking the building thoroughly to ensure no smouldering rubble incited a further blaze. Engineers and architects would be called in to check the structural integrity of the building before it could be used again, but Trowa doubted enough damage had been done to warrant the building being demolished. Certainly the mid and upper levels would need serious reconstruction, but the lower third of the structure might just pass inspection for continued use. All in all after consulting with the Fire Chief, he decided it could have been much worse. He had not failed as dismally as he had thought, though he was still far from content with his performance. He needed to debrief, officially, not that he was particularly looking forward to it, but he had to enter into the official record why he had acted as he had. He needed to justify his actions and make a severely edited version of actual events sound like the facts. That was going to be quite a trick, he knew. Getting his story straight and sticking to it without anyone suspecting there was more to the events of the night than he had stated was easy enough to decide to do, not so easy to actually accomplish. Most of what was in his report was fact, but there were some things he just could not include. It was the dreams he wanted to keep under wraps. No one would understand… could understand. No one who had not themselves experienced similar events. The dreams he was plagued with and the link he found only in the dream between the assassin and the young man whose body had been brought in earlier in the day. That information came from a… damn, it was still so incredibly hard to admit it, even to himself. He was going to have to get over that reaction and act as though noting was untoward about his activities. Information garnered through… visions… there, he had thought the word. Visions. It was a little easier the second time. //Visions. I have… visions. Real visions of fire. Or what might become fire if I interfere and …. and if I do interfere… how would I ever know what is real? Would it have happened as it had in my dream? Or would it… What if it was just a nightmare and I… make mistakes. How do I know what is real and what is not? // He did not like where his thoughts were taking him. Quatre was different too, but Quatre was… well… Quatre. It did not seem odd for Quatre to be different, to have what he called a Space Heart and what scientists would term empathic talent beyond the norm. Could such a thing be measured, he mused? But he did not want to go there. He felt enough of a freak as it was. //Bad word. Bad, bad description. Quatre would have my guts for garters if he knew I was thinking like that.// But he was feeling it. He was feeling like a universe separated him from everyone else and he knew enough to know that was bad. He had to deal with it somehow. Stop thinking of Quatre as being unique and special and himself as being a freak. If Quatre found those thoughts in his head… well no, Quatre said he could not read thoughts, just emotions. There were some days though when Quatre seemed to know every thought in a person's head; other days when he would lock himself in a room and try to shut out the world because it encroached into his every thought and emotion. Was he going to be like that? "You look like you have seen better days, Chameleon. Good job!" Bringing his wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand he inclined his head, slowing his shuffle even more as he entered the building. He wanted to sleep but that could wait; he was still afraid of what sleep might bring. He was aiming not for his bed but for the temporary office set up in the building and now being used by Griffon, the L1 Head of Operations. He had been given directions on leaving the cafeteria and had been informed he would need to check in at the security desk. There would be a period when security would pretty much rule the roost, when their personnel had the right to detain anyone for at least a forty eight hour period in which an investigation into their business in the Preventer enclosure would be carried out. A cluster of people at the security desk drew a sigh from him. He was not looking forward to waiting in line, his feet ached something fierce, but to reach the desk and clear his presence before he entered the elevators would be far better than getting tossed into the brig by an over enthusiastic guard. //I suppose it will give me some time to review the report. I don't think I missed anything but… Can I be sure?// He had done some serious thinking over breakfast, taking his time with his meal as he sorted through his impressions. He had separated what had definitely happened in the real physical world and marked the clues that had come from his… vision. He was getting better at thinking that word. Careful wording of his report would, hopefully, see it slip through inspection when he handed it in. His fingers curled tighter on the report in question and he dismissed the flicker of guilt that he would be lying at a debriefing. //Well, it's not exactly going to be a lie.// he admonished himself. //I'm merely making the events more… erm… everyday. Everyday believable./ / Yes, everyday was a reasonable description for what he was doing in toning down the incident. It would be considered, at best, a flight of fantasy if he claimed he had dreamed the whole thing and acted from said dream during the entire incident on the roof. He would find himself in a straight-jacket in no time. For the incident to be very much a mundane… no, that was not the right word. It had been far from mundane after all. It was far better it appeared so ordinary than for there to be a science fiction style explanation when dealing with investigators. Tell them what they wanted to hear, not something they would not believe unless they experienced it themselves. //Not that I have believed it in all of the years it has been happening to me.// The security personnel on the main desk were eyeing everyone who walked in the door as though they would like to strip search them, he noticed. Not that he could blame them, but as it was he must look like a refugee from a hospital in his scrubs and bandages and copious quantities of bruising. Shuffling up to the desk and pausing behind a young woman arguing with the older woman beside her he sighed and determined to endure the pain in his feet for as long as he had to. It was something of a surprise when one of the guards to the side of the desk inclined his head to Trowa and motioned him to one side. Curious, Trowa shuffled forward, moving to meet the man a little way from the gathered agents. "Griffon left word you would have no id on you, given you were in the Medical Centre. He arranged this for you." He could get to like the man, Trowa decided, certainly the efficiency of the operations head. He accepted the lanyard with a Preventer identification coded pass suspended from it, slipping the loop over his head and feeling the key pass slap against his chest. Glancing at the card code he arched an eyebrow and looked questioningly at the guard. "All existing pass cards are being replaced given the incident. Everyone is to be checked through security to receive their new pass. Your pass was one of the first Griffon ordered to be processed, so you are clear to enter the building and any areas your pass is coded for." He did not envy security the day ahead of them if they were to process all agents and employees, and issue the new passes. Bed might be a better place to spend the day after all, but first he wanted to hand in the report and get the lie he had to tell on record. "Thanks. Is Griffon in his office?" "Yes and he said you might be wanting a word with him. I'll call up that you are on your way. Level 2, room 45." "Thanks." "Chameleon." Trowa paused, turning back to the guard. "Yes?" "Thanks for taking the son of a bitch down." "I didn't. I only delayed him." He would not take credit for a kill that was not his own. He had not been the one to take the shot that took down the assassin. "We'd have had a lot more people dead and injured if you hadn't managed to get word out and kept the asshole busy. Thanks." Nodding slightly Trowa shuffled toward the elevators and hoped he would not have to stand still for long waiting for one. He felt uncomfortable with the praise, but dismissed it. Done was done, and said was said. He had bigger fish to fry and his feet were really beginning to hurt and he would appreciate the chance to get his weight off of them. Hopefully Griffon would not make him stand through the debriefing. Thankfully an elevator arrived and disgorged a group of agents as he arrived and he was quick to step inside, but it appeared the cluster at the security desk would ensure he had little competition and indeed the doors closed, sealing him in companion free. The second floor was quiet as he exited the elevator and shuffled his way along the hall, looking for the room that had been converted to a field office. He could hope the man would take any discomfort that might betray him during the interview as a result of his wounds. He would certainly do his best to give than impression, not that it was usually his way to acknowledge pain. If it helped gloss over the facts on this occasion then he was quite willing to admit he was in pain. Anything to distract unwanted questions. "Chameleon. You look like death warmed over." Griffon lounged against the door frame and motioned him into the office, ducking in ahead of him to sit behind the large desk and motioning Trowa to the chair facing him as he shuffled into the room. "I have felt better." Trowa shuffled across the floor, eyeing the chair with relief. "I think feet have to be the worst when it comes to injuries." "I'll take your word for it. I am pleased to inform you that your watchdogs have seen reason and have returned to their hotel to contact their superiors. Sit before you fall down." "I brought you my report." Trowa lowered himself carefully into the chair, only too grateful to get his weight from his feet and could not quite suppress the sigh of relief. Of course now that he was seated the pure pain became an annoying throbbing. That, he decided, was not an improvement. He stretched carefully, mindful of the pain in his back and the stiffening of abused muscles. He doubted he could point to any one single part of his body that did not ache to some degree as a result of his experience. He wanted to rest, though he did not want to sleep, and handing in his report would delay the inevitable moment when he had no other option open to him. He hoped Griffon might be persuaded to tell him something of the investigation after he was debriefed and that would distract him further. He leaned forward to deposit the folder on the desk and then, careful to keep his back from contacting the backrest of the chair, he settled, finding a position where no single ache pained him more than any other. "My report." Griffon inclined his head in acknowledgement and pulled the folder closer to hand. "You will be pleased to know that, following due consultation with the ESUN agents, lovingly referred to by everyone as your Watch Dogs, you are now officially listed as being on active assignment." Trowa grinned at Griffon's expression, watching as the man flipped the folder open, trying not to tense up in expectation. If Griffon noticed he could only hope the man thought it a result of the pain. "They are reporting to their head office on Earth, or will be, as soon as the weather clears. The storm system over Europe is proving to be a monumental pain in the arse. Communications within the affected area are negligible at this time. We are not the only one's having to deal with the problem. I believe there are a number of government meetings cancelled because of the conditions." Trowa wished to communicate with the Earth too, though for personal reasons. Contacting Quatre, and taking comfort from that contact, would simply have to wait. He would need to keep himself occupied until he could establish communications with his lover and then…. Well, it was not that he did not already know what his lover would say, but knowing it and actually hearing the words from Quatre were far from the same thing. And he needed to hear that quiet voice, feel those arms and their confident strength enfold him… He was pathetic since he had found what it was to love. He was still independent, still his own man; but he ached for the voice and the touch of that one individual who meant something special to him. His other half. His soul mate. There lay comfort and security and it was denied to him. "The unfortunate death of your watchdog will no doubt see the ESUN Security Agency demanding a joint investigation in conjunction with Preventer. However, given the storm front on Earth, we at least have the grace of a few hours before they can contact their superiors and muscle in on the investigation. They are not authorised to interfere in our investigations on their own recognizance. " "When is the storm forecast to abate enough to re-establish communications? " "The latest forecasts suggest it will be mid afternoon, or thereabouts, before there is expected to be any significant improvement in European weather conditions. The reports we have managed to get out of the area suggest the effects are wide spread and communications may be a little spotty at best for some days after the storm subsides. I am hopeful that, with the size and quality of the communications array in Sanc, we should be able to communicate with Headquarters before nightfall. At the last report we heard out of the European sector something like six communications towers have been confirmed damaged or destroyed by the weather across the affected area." Griffon slid a computer disc from its pocket in the folder, checking the writing on the disc and shuffled through the few papers. Trowa waited, wanting to lean back and knowing that casual pose was far beyond him to pull off at the moment. He had to keep reminding himself it was okay to look uncomfortable, his wounds were the perfect excuse. "I was not expecting this so soon, to be honest." Griffon flicked a finger at the corner of the folder. "I worked on it while I was eating and events were still fresh in my mind. It helped take my mind off my feet." Griffon snorted softly, amused at the bland tone of Trowa's delivery. "Fair enough. There is coffee if you want it." Trowa noted the machine on a credenza set to one side of the room and debated with himself for all of three seconds if it was going to be worth the pain. Deciding it was, he rose to make himself a drink whilst Griffon fed the disk into the computer and loaded the file. He shuffled toward the credenza, careful how he moved and felt the weight of Griffon's eyes on him. Not wishing to be put on medical leave for an indeterminate period of time, he stiffened his spine and smoothed his gait. He fervently hoped his tired mind had not led him to slip up on anything a detailed examination of the report would uncover. Griffon passed no comment on his physical condition and turned his attention back to the computer and to reading the report, leaving Trowa to see to the making of his coffee. He had been careful how he skirted around the why of his presence on the roof, simply stating he had awoken and thought he had heard something in the hallway. It was straightforward and should Griffon question him it would be time to pull out the ambiguous soldier's instinct. "You can't name what it was that woke you?" "No. No, I've thought about it, I know there must have been some sound made, something out of place with the sounds that should have been there, but I really can't say what it was. Maybe it was just that sense of something feeling wrong…. You know what I mean? You were in the armed forces…?" Griffon grunted softly, a brief nod and his attention appeared to be focused on the report. Trowa finished with his coffee and proceeded to shuffle back to his seat, glancing up when the communicator on Griffon's wrist band chimed an alert. The man absently tapped his earpiece, eyes never leaving the screen. "Griffon. Report." The problem with the wireless devices was that one had no chance of overhearing both sides of a conversation. Trowa tried not to look interested as the silence stretched from seconds to a minute. "Very well. Get a team to the shuttle port and clear the building whilst they are in transit. Have the lockers checked thoroughly for booby traps and no one is to attempt to open it until the area is cleared. Griffon out." The Head of Operations thrust himself up from his seat as he tapped off the com and strode over to the credenza where he busied himself making coffee. Sipping the brew while he waited, Trowa found himself pleasantly surprised by the taste. It appeared Griffon had a discerning palate and he, or someone on his staff, had gone to some trouble to acquire good quality beans. Griffon was ex armed forces, Trowa had seen his file, and the man would be inclined to accept his `something is not right itch' as an explanation, as would Une herself. Preventer Earth had proven she had a good understanding of her ex soldiers and their reactions in the past. Griffon and Une were the only two individuals Trowa needed to convince of the facts as written in the report. A grunt of acceptance was what he was hoping for and he could only pray that should the ESUN Security Agency join the investigation and access his report, that their operatives were ex soldiers and would not question it further. "The key is for a locker in the shuttle port terminal, as I suspected. Given the nature of the assassin, I think it only expedient we take every precaution against unpleasant surprises taking place when the locker is opened." Griffon's voice drew Trowa's thoughts back to the moment and he nodded, agreeing with the assessment. The man was a professional and having gone up against him one on one, Trowa was not inclined to underestimate his skills. "He was good. Very good." Trowa murmured. "I have no doubt of that," Griffon settled back into his seat and returned his attention to the computer screen. "To have infiltrated the compound and to get as far as he did before you sussed something was wrong… and to go up against you. I've watched you work out and I know your record." Not thinking Trowa stretched and winced at the uncomfortable pull across his back, taking a little more care as he settled further into the chair, holding his back away from the back rest, unwilling to needlessly aggravate the wound. He knew Griffon had noticed, but there was nothing he could do about it now. It needed to be known he felt the wounds, but he did not want to be taken off the active duty listing. He would have liked to go out to the shuttle port and assist in the opening of the locker, but one glance at the man behind the desk, and noticing the medical report on the near corner of the desk, dissuaded him from going so far as to suggest it. He was not particularly fond of fighting lost causes. After a few minutes Griffon shifted in his seat, worked stiffness out of one shoulder and leaned back in his chair, studying Trowa with a slight frown. "You heard him say Washington… but there was nothing else he said to suggest who this Washington might be, or what connection they might have to the hit?" Good, Griffon appeared to have left the why of his going to investigate for the moment. Trowa relaxed a little, more confident now. "That's right. I'm certain he said `Bang. No evidence of Washington permitted, I'm afraid.' I am sure that was his exact wording." " `No evidence of Washington permitted'," Griffon leaned back into his seat, frowning up at the ceiling. "I've had a preliminary report from the unit investigating the contents of the assassin's bag. They have found nothing as yet to suggest a place of origin, but given the key is for a shuttle port locker, I dare to suspect he is from off colony. The team investigating the locker will get the details of time of hiring from the computers, and if we are lucky we might be able to isolate a shuttle arrival at that time." Trowa nodded, he was in complete agreement with that assessment. The colonies had existed long enough for there to be distinct linguistic shift to designate each colonial 'region'. What little he had heard from the assassin suggested the man was not native to L1. If he had arrived from a shuttle and hired the locker from the automatic computer station, the entry might give them a rough time of arrival. Of course, the locker might have been hired at any time prior to his arrival by a contact. He might have arrived a few hours, or days, before and not hired the locker immediately. There was a wealth of possibilities to be considered. It could be a dead end. "He had quite a collection of weapons at his disposal and we are attempting to trace those weapons. All serial numbers and identifying features had been removed, of course, but we might find something under intensive microscopic examination. The knives were obviously custom made, suggesting there should be some record somewhere in the ESUN that would match their make, design and individual characteristics. " "It is possible he may have crafted them himself. Professional knife men who are passionate about their skill have been known to do so." Griffon sighed and inclined his head in agreement. With the dead man being a professional there would be precious few leads that would actually lead anywhere. "It's more than possible, I would say. They are a very fine piece of work, each one the product of a Master Craftsman." Griffon sipped his coffee and leaned forward, reaching out to hit a succession of keys on the keyboard of his computer and studied the screen. "Beautiful workmanship. It's not much for us to go on, but most legitimate makers would stamp their mark on the goods, and there are a few marks on a couple of the knives we are following up. No luck as yet, though it is early days and these searches take time. By law a weapons maker has to keep a complete catalogue of their merchandise, including their special orders. If we can match the style, the weight, any distinguishing features created in the making of the weapons, then we might get somewhere." "They could have come from some backyard workshop and be unregistered. " "Which they most likely are," Griffon agreed. "and if he did forge them himself that trail will be so cold you could skate on it. We might get something from the metal analysis though. At this point in time, anything would help." Quality craftsmanship one would expect from a professional knifeman. One had to have trust in one's equipment and that meant you either made your kit yourself, or you had to have implicit trust in the person who made it for you. Trowa had learned that fact early in his association with mercenaries. Everything about the assassin screamed professional, and that in turn spoke of money and power behind his employment. If he worked for those who had engineered the genetic laboratories… Trowa doubted they would find anything to point a finger at any single specific individual by the time they finished this investigation. He was almost certain the body in the alley and the assassin were linked, and there was the name Washington to be linked with the pair. Whoever Washington was, he must be pretty confident of escaping attention. He wished he could sit back and rest the ache developing along his spine, but his back would not allow for that. He could not even affect a comfortable slouch as it pulled at his stitches. Being uncomfortable annoyed him and made him restless. " `No evidence of Washington permitted.' " Griffon's soft voice drew Trowa from his distraction with his discomfort and he arched an eyebrow, curious. "It bothers me for some reason." The soft explanation was accompanied by the steady drumming of fingers on the desk top. The one visible emerald eye narrowed and Trowa shook his head slightly. "Why?" "I'm not sure. Can you place any accent?" His memory was good, but was it that good? Trowa's frown deepened as he tried to remember the scene. He had barely heard the man's words let alone taken notice of how he said them. An accent? Had there been an accent he could specifically tag to one colony, or one country of the Earth? Rubbing his sweating palms into the surgical scrubs he wore in place of his ruined trousers, Trowa was forced to shake his head. "No. No, I can't place an accent. I barely could make out what he said as it was. I was concentrating more on the rocket launcher he had in his hands at the time." Griffon inclined his head. "It was a thought. If you remember anything about his accent later, just report it and we will see how it affects any information we uncover in the interim." The chime of the wrist communicator sounded through the room again and Griffon raised a hand to his earpiece. "Griffon. Report." Trowa inched forward on his seat, wishing he was out at the terminal building and taking part in the operation. It annoyed him to have to sit on the sidelines, but he knew there was no help for it. Patience had been drilled into him during his mercenary days and he forced down the irritation and waited. "Report back as soon as you have the locker clear." Griffon tapped his headset and glanced at Trowa. "They have cleared the area around the locker and the bomb squad have found what looks to be an incendiary device. They are working on it now." A tap on the open door and Trowa turned in his seat, ignoring the twinge in his back, to see a Preventer agent with a desk com unit in hand. The logo on the badge he wore revealed him to be a com tech. "We have basic com function restored, Commander." Griffon signalled the tech in and in silence the pair watched as the man installed the device with quick and efficient economy. "Within the hour we should have the com system restored throughout the complex, sir. It's pretty basic at the moment but it works. It will probably take three to four days to effect full repairs to the main system." Griffon acknowledged the man with a nod and sighed when the tech departed. "They knew where to hit us. The explosion took out one of the main relays for our communications systems. Using these field units is a little limiting, speed wise, but at least it allows for us to keep in touch." The field com sounded and Griffon was quick to activate the device. "Griffon, report." Trowa stood carefully, unable to remain seated any longer and taking up Griffon's cup and his own he headed for the credenza. He needed to be doing something and if that was something as simple as acting as coffee boy, then so be it. "Dispatch the bag unopened to HQ. It is to be taken immediately to the stand by laboratory. Griffon, out." Green eyes flicked to Griffon and narrowed slightly. They had the locker open then. Good. He would be interested to see what it contained. "The incendiary was disarmed and the bag found in the locker has been scanned for booby traps and declared safe. It is now in transit. I take it you would like to be here when it is opened?" "Yes." "Well enough, you bled to earn the right. We'll finish the coffee and head down to the lab. A basic field investigative laboratory has been set up on the first floor. For detailed forensics we have to send it through to Police headquarters, but we can have a look at what we have before we send it through."
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