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"Caught in the Crossfire "Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters –
am just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long
past NCS Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2,
past 3x4 and 1x3 Summary: When Trowa's nephew is threatened by
the ruthless father who abandoned him, Trowa needs help in order to
fight back and protect both Catherine and the little boy. Things get
complicated when both Shinigami and the Perfect Soldier come to his
aid as the three men must discover where they stand with each other
while they work out a way to protect Trowa's family. "Caught in the Crossfire "
Chapter 11 The high speed train
took them across Europe while avoiding the intense security of the
airports and Nabokov's potential scrutiny. Two mobile suits –
a Leo and a Space Leo – were talking to each other and Trowa
was a little amused by Eli's narrative. It made him remember a more
innocent time. Before... before everything. Nabokov. It made him remember
their life at the circus. Before Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy were back
in his life. Heero was sat directly
opposite Trowa and next to Eli as Heero, since his gunshot wound,
had become Eli's new favourite person, even supplanting Duo, and so
he had demanded that Heero sit next to him on the journey. Stuck by
his side like a shadow. Supposed that Heero was probably one of the
best people for Eli to become attached to as he was as dangerous and
lethal as any of them – even when injured. It didn't offend Trowa
that Eli had made his demands to sit with the former Wing pilot. Heero
had nearly died and he seemed to be appreciating the attention. Less
awkward around him now, smiling slightly, answering a few questions
about his life as a Gundam pilot – Heero replying softly, one
or two word answers, but it was something. And Eli was used to Trowa
and Heero had always been somewhat similar to him. Heero maybe a bit
more violent, a little more damaged, or maybe that's what a tumultuous
young love affair with Duo did. But then Trowa always remembered him
as intense even in their youth. Duo was not on the
train. Neither was Catherine. A decision had been made to separate
– Catherine had fought it with every fibre of her being, bright
eyed in one of the Sanc motel rooms, but it made sense. They'd had
three days since Nabakov's last assault and they'd regrouped enough
for Heero to move more fluidly and it was decided then that they'd
get out of Sanc and create a distraction by using two different methods.
Heero couldn't fly – a bullet still embedded in him that would
set off metal detectors in airports – so it was decided that
Heero would take the train. "Eli needs to
go on the train – airports have cameras and shit, too obvious,"
Duo had said. Trowa had to agree
with that logic – not that they all weren't obvious. Nabokov
probably had facial recognition technology and would know whoever
went through the airport – but then maybe it would help if Eli
didn't. The train stations, while they still had security, did not
have the same level – an antiquated form of transportation for
tourists more than anything else. Duo and Catherine
left for the airport a few days ago and Trowa had promised Eli would
be safe to his mother, reassuring her, but the events of the past
few weeks made her less than sure of that outcome. Trowa was not entirely
positive himself – watching every person on the train, watching
closely who got on and off, his hand eager for a gun he had hidden
underneath his grey sweater. At least they had
weapons. Duo didn't. But if they made an attempt of capturing Catherine,
Trowa had faith that she'd be able to fight back. And Duo was hardly
harmless. And between himself and Heero he hoped that no surprise
attack would come and if it did, they would face it – old habits
dying hard. They had bought multiple tickets to multiple locations
and hoped that the confusion of multiple tickets and different names
would give them enough time to reach Minsk and get to an apartment
secured by Duo's contact where they would reconvene today. They'd
had no contact for the past few days and Eli had been a little anxious
but Trowa had told him stories about the war to get him to sleep in
small hotel rooms, swapping look–outs with Heero with small glances,
sleeping a little and travelling by day. They now had less than an
hour until Minsk and their final stop but that didn't stop him from
feeling anxious. Trowa looked over
at Heero – his eyes on Eli – and he wondered if Heero knew
about what had happened between him and Duo. Once had been an acceptable
turn of events – shit, he had never planned on sleeping with
Duo but it had been good, hot, distracting, adrenalin–fuelled.
And the morning after, the awkwardness, the attempt they both made
to distance themselves suggested it really was a one–time thing.
Duo had tried to make it clear that it meant nothing and Trowa had
tried to reciprocate that apathy despite everything. Yet at the next hotel,
near the border of Sanc, Trowa had found himself in the shower with
Duo pressed up against him, unable to stop it happening again, a mouth
at the back of his neck, the slick slide of soap and water, a hand
around him, jerking him off, fighting back then, his face irritatingly
in the spray, pushing Duo into wet cold tile. Kissing him aggressively,
grinding their bodies together in the imitation of sex, Duo running
his fingers over his shoulders, back, down, a finger pushing inside
him and moaning into the kiss, Trowa sliding his hand between them,
tugging at Duo's cock, until Duo pushed back, Trowa's face hitting
the tiles. He lost then, willingly, the slide of soap slicked fingers,
replaced by his dick, slowly being fucked into the wall until he came
against it, water taking away any evidence of the encounter. The kiss after, towels
around waists, water drying on skin, was different to anything so
far and Trowa knew it was wrong and fucked but there was some feeling
there. And it felt worse to be thinking about it when Heero was opposite
him, smiling at Eli, making him feel like it was some deceit. He knew
they weren't together, that Duo and Heero were a long time over, but
still Trowa saw the looks they shared – the innate understanding
they had of each other. It was unsettling and made him feel out of
place. The scenery changed
suddenly – no longer a rolling vista of fields and forests but
rather houses, a cityscape appearing – and Trowa caught Heero's
eye and he acknowledged that with a curt nod. This part was where
the danger lay. Trowa didn't believe that they'd escaped Nabokov entirely
– that was a naive and stupid thought. They'd have been caught
on cameras too many times and despite the separation, multiple tickets
bought, he knew they had to be cautious. No one was getting to Eli.
He'd promised that. To himself. To Catherine. He couldn't help a
pang of worry surfacing then – they didn't know if Catherine
and Duo had made it to the apartment, the 'safe house,' but he had
to trust they had. He'd put a lot of faith in Duo. It made something
in his stomach tighten thinking about him, his slick skin, his scars,
his hair, his tongue. 'Fuck, wrong time,'
Trowa thought. The train slowed on
approach to the station and Trowa told Eli to pack away toys in a
backpack that he carried a few things in – clothes, some candy
– his pack innocent compared to the ones Heero and Trowa were
carrying. One night, a town over the border into Lithuania, Heero
had disappeared from the room, coming back in the early hours of the
morning with a bag containing weapons and Trowa had not asked –
as Duo said, he could've be working for some clandestine organisation
as an international terrorist or a Preventer consultant or even working
for damn Relena – it was safer not to ask. Yet he had managed
to acquire a cache of weaponry that his mercenary self would've been
impressed with – even as a civilian, he still was. Trowa got up and grabbed
bags from the overhead compartment and gave one to Heero, looking
briefly down both ends of the carriage as other passengers followed
suit. It was as the train began to stop that Trowa gazed through the
window at the platform, his eyes anticipating a threat. He saw none
as the train stopped and he knelt down to Eli, securing his jacket
tight around him as Catherine might do. "You have to
stay close to us, understand?" Trowa didn't want
to scare Eli – just make him understand that the days of what
seemed like safety were not going to last. "Hold my hand. Listen
to me all the time." Eli nodded as Trowa
stood and he held his hand as they exited the train and stepped onto
a busy platform. The train station in Minsk was old, vaulted ceiling,
impressive architecture, and large. Trowa held tightly onto Eli's
hand, walking swiftly but not too fast, Heero walking a few steps
behind as some kind of rear guard and Trowa couldn't help feeling
uncomfortable with so many people around them. He'd learnt to pick
out threats from a young age – it was vital to learn that the
way Trowa had spent his childhood. In a childhood spent among merc
groups and the constant threat of potential violence, he had learnt
who the predators of the world were – those who looked through
slitted eyes, who were danger and were on the lookout for prey. Trowa
had become one of them – not wanting to become prey and ensuring
he didn't. His eyes picked up
the threat and glanced back to Heero who had seemingly clocked it
a moment or so before, a hand drifting to a concealed weapon and him
pulling the bag over his tighter to his body. They'd discussed this
– as Trowa began to figure out how many, he slowed his pace in
the pretence of letting Eli catch up to him rather than indicating
they knew. They didn't want to show that yet. Trowa stopped altogether
and bent down to pretend to tie Eli's shoelaces. Heero continued walking
and now it was just the two of them. He felt an uncomfortable feeling
– a reminder of being in that forest that had started all this
– Trowa bloody and Eli scared. It also made him remember holding
him, small and defenceless, newborn and wrinkly, there outside the
delivery suite in Marseille until those sounds – the first wailing
cries of a new life happened and he held him, passed from a weary
looking Catherine into his arms. Now he wasn't entirely
defenceless, not as scared as he had been, but was looking at him,
confused. "Where's Heero?" "He has to do
something." Trowa glanced up to see that there were five men,
he assumed, on the lookout for them. He hoped that Heero
knew what he was doing. Then he had to apply some of that blind faith
to him that he'd had during the war – how he'd so admired him
at fifteen, during his recovery and during a few nights of silent
passion, piloting the Mercurius and Vayeate to fight Quatre and the
time aboard Peacemillion, a cycle of waiting and then battle. "We need to go
to the bathroom." Eli whined –
protesting that he didn't need to go, wanting to see Heero and Trowa
remembered that despite the fact Eli had been through a lot and was
very much like him, he was a child still. And a little creative bribery
was occasionally required. "You promised, remember? You do this
and we can get more toys." He agreed to that
and Trowa walked over to the men's room quickly, not quite sure how
much time they had, as they were watched entering but not followed.
There were a few other men in the restroom but Trowa picked one stall,
locking the door behind him and knelt down to his nephew's level. "There's going
to be an explosion soon. Cover your ears." The words were barely
out of his mouth when the sound of the first detonation resounded
and the first cries of panic. Trowa wrapped his arms around Eli, his
body used as a defence as another explosion shook the foundations
– the charges enough for damage but not to destroy. To distract.
Heero would've set four – that was the plan – and Trowa
waited for all of them. They weren't intended to kill but do enough
damage to evacuate the station. To create the panic of a crowd. For
Trowa and Eli to slip out. He pulled Eli's hood
up, wrapped a scarf firmly around his own mouth, as much of a disguise
as they had bothered with. "I'm going to carry you." "Okay." Trowa lifted him,
exited the stall, the bathroom – Eli in his arms, the little
boys hands wrapped around his neck as the panic of a terrorist attack
ripped through the station. The authorities were on the scene, directing,
guiding, evacuating. A cloud of smoke hung in the air – the smell
of explosives tickling at his nostrils and Trowa wondered if it would
be possible that there would be no civilian casualties. He wondered
if Heero cared if there were. The boy during the war maybe wouldn't
have – they did what they had to do – but the man who had
been through so much. Trowa doubted he'd sleep well with more innocent
people on his conscience. The panic meant they
were drawn into a crowd of people of all ages, jostled on either side,
and Trowa tried to adjust his hold on Eli while carrying a bag full
of weapons and ammo. He tried to see the men, looking around the crowd
and he saw none, obscured by all the civilians. On exiting, Trowa
saw the first responders, the crowds, the people observing the drama
as though watching some show on television. There was a cordon, an
attempt to keep people in the area – Trowa assumed for questioning,
as they would need to discover who had set those small bombs. They wouldn't find
Heero – Trowa was certain of that. He'd already be somewhere
else. On his way to the apartment as they were – slipping through
ineffective crime scene tape and Trowa putting Eli down at that point
as they began a quick walk to the apartment located near enough to
the station for the blasts to have been heard. Catherine would be
panicking. More than that – her mind probably gone to the worst
case scenario as she waited for them – and Trowa took the route
he'd memorised. Minsk was another city he'd passed through though
he didn't know it. Yet he had sat with Heero in hotel rooms, pouring
over maps, going through plans and how to react to different circumstances
and he'd learnt the streets, crossing roads, holding Eli's hand tight. He thought he'd avoided
all of those men – disguised as businessmen, students, builders
– when he rounded a corner to see a gun raised in the hand of
a smug looking stranger. "You thought
we wouldn't catch up with you? There are too many of us and too few
of you." Trowa didn't hesitate,
the gun out of his waistband and two shots fired without any thought.
Eli flinched but the awful truth had become that he'd seen so much
that it wasn't as shocking as that first time at the forest. It made
his blood boil under the surface as Eli was never meant to be like
he had been. Never supposed to know the cool caress of the metal of
a gun and the image of blood on the sidewalk. He leaned down briefly,
checking for a cell phone, guns and then grabbed Eli's hand where
he had waited, wide eyed, and glanced in all directions before walking
at an even faster pace to the rendezvous location. No one else followed
– or so Trowa hoped – and they arrived at an old block of
apartments on a street full of other grey blocks of apartments. They
were old, built to accommodate railway workers so long ago, unrefined,
utilitarian, anonymous. They approached the one 'their' apartment
was in – the front door had a buzzer system once, so long ago,
but now the door rattled on its hinges, and they walked into a corridor,
dark, the strip lighting above dead. The stairwell smelled
of piss, the paint peeled and covered with graffiti. He recognised
some disparaging comments about the ESUN in Russian, a language he
knew enough of, and they were walking up, up, to the fifth floor in
the old building. No elevator. Too antiquated for that. Eli seemed
tired, his steps dragging and Trowa stopped. "You want help?" From such a young
age, Eli had seemed defiant – from battles at night with him
as a baby, screaming, his little fists balled against Trowa's chest,
attempts made to head butt him – to now, shaking his head. "It's okay to
ask for help when you need it." Trowa had – currently
making his way to Duo who had done everything he could've asked for. Eli consented then
– Trowa picking him up the rest of the way until they reached
a nondescript door where he put Eli down and rapped his knuckles against
it in a pattern to indicate it was him – and relief flooded him
moments later when the door opened and Duo stood there – no signs
of injury. Blue eyes met Trowa's
and then glanced behind him as if searching out Heero and that created
a feeling he couldn't define deep down somewhere. As Duo would always
seek out Heero. He should damn well know that. He closed the door
behind him to stop looking at the vague look of confusion and worry
on Duo's face. They didn't say anything
as Catherine was there then and Eli ran towards his mother –
she wrapping him in her arms, removing the bag, smoothing his hair
back and asking how he was in a million different ways. She glanced up at
Trowa, mouthed a "thank you" and Trowa only nodded. Eli
was never his son but was still always his – he never needed
thanks. "Let's get you
cleaned up and then we'll have some food," she said and took
him to what Trowa assumed was the bathroom or bedrooms along a thin
hall. With her gone, Trowa
turned his attention to Duo and the anxiety on his face, the tiredness,
they all looked like hell now, he guessed. "Heero?"
Duo asked. "Set off the
explosives as a distraction. We were followed." Duo leaned his body
against the wall, lax, his arms folded across his chest. "So
were we. Tried something as soon as we landed." "Bad?" "Both of us came
out without a scratch. Can't say the same for the other dudes." Trowa dropped the
pack of weapons to the floor, saw Duo watch his movements, careful,
and he turned towards the braided man. He'd done so much for them
– the money, keeping Eli and Catherine alive – and he thought
about how he'd tried to thank him all that time ago and Duo said it
would get worse. It had. Worse and more complicated but still Trowa
leaned towards him, reached for his chin, felt a quickening breath
before he kissed him, slowly, like the kiss in the shower after rather
than the heat of their sex. He heard movement
and despite the fact Catherine was more than aware of his sexual preferences
and the fact she had no problems with Eli knowing his orientation,
he still stepped back, but it wasn't Catherine or Eli who stepped
into the hallway from an open door. Trowa looked at that
person and back to Duo, slumped a little against the wall, and looked
awkward as there he was. He'd changed –
eight years did that – his hair a darker blond, some stubble
on his jawline that the fifteen year old boy wouldn't have had –
dressed in some ridiculous street clothes. The sort of hoodies Duo
wore and looked natural in but it looked odd on him. "Hello, Trowa." Trowa didn't say hello
– a small grunt was all the greeting he gave to Quatre Raberba
Winner. tbc... |
