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"Diary of a Protected Witness"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don’t own any part of Gundam
Wing or the characters, more’s the pity. This is for fun...no
profit involved. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots), some OOC
(probably), violence, drugs, sex, Pairings: 1X2X1, 3X4, 5XC, (past 2X3X2, 6X2) Summary: Ever wonder what was running through Duo's mind at certain points in"Witness Protection?" Here are snippets of his point of view...a companionfic, that will not rehash the entire plot, but offer a new perspective ofcertain events. A/N: This more or less fits with chapters sixty two and sixty three of Witness, timewise.
" Diary of a Protected Witness"
Dear Diary: I could compare bargaining with the FBI to selling your soul to Satan, but that’d be a gross insult to the residents of Hell. The Feds were ten times worse to dicker with, and a hundred times less savory to be around. Not that I’m sayin’ I ever sold my soul or nothin’. But I’d come close enough to feel like trading favors with Alexander was a fair comparison. First, when he came back after I’d regained my voice and a smidgen of my strength, he brought along a goon with scissors to cut my hair, citing the need for anonymity where I was going. I told him to take his anonymity and shove it where the sun don’t shine—or come a little closer and let me enjoy doing it! I thought I was gonna lose that battle, too. Because in all honesty, they could’ve overpowered me and done it without my consent. But I swore on my mother’s grave (not that I’d ever known who she was, but Alexander didn’t know that) if they cut off the braid, they’d never get a single word of testimony out of me, and I’d cut off their balls while they slept. Even Feds gotta sleep sometime… So, Round One went to Maxwell. Then I told Alexander to get me a fuckin’ phone so I could let my friends know I was alive. I about shit when he told me they’d already had a funeral, said their goodbyes, and moved on. “Don’t you think it’d be crueler at this point, to tell them it was all a hoax?” he asked. “No, I don’t!” I argued. “Trust me, Trowa’d want to know I’m still breathing. The guy’s gotta be going through Hell about now.” Not to mention what Heero was suffering; but I couldn’t tell that to Alexander without revealing our relationship. And I’d be damned if I was gonna “out” Heero to a bunch of pansy-assed Feds. “Your friend Barton is, at this moment, preparing to testify against that Schbeiker woman who screwed your case.” “Huh?” “The trial’s resuming any day now, and the word from Noventa is that Barton can verify that you not only weren’t capable of murdering Merquise, even in a fit of temper, but that you’d patched things up with him the night of his death.” “Yeah, I had,” I said weakly. “Tro’s gonna tell ‘em?” “Yes. And this is no time to rattle his cage, Maxwell. He needs to focus on the trial.” The bastard had a point. I didn’t want to mess with Trowa’s head just before he was gonna have to deal with that Tsubarov asshole. So Round Two went to Alexander, dammit. “But, eventually—I’ll be able to contact him again, right?” I asked. Alexander was shaking his head dubiously. “Not in the near future,” he said flatly. “You’ve got to stay hidden until everything’s settled. It’s safer for you, as well as your friends. We’ve got Trant tucked away, too, and he’s gonna spill all he knows about the syndicate and Khushrenada’s involvement with it. You may or may not have a part to play in that trial, depending on whether they convict Khushrenada of Merquise’s murder.” “And how long will all that shit take?” “Months— maybe years.” Right. As if I was gonna hang tight with a couple of FBI watchdogs that long? Psh—not! Nor was I gonna live without my blue-eyed cop a minute longer than I had to. But I didn’t argue the point with Alexander right then. I didn’t want him to know just how hard it was gonna be to keep Duo Maxwell on ice. “Years,” I sighed, pretending to relent. An idea had begun to take shape in my head—one that might help me hook up with Heero, if I could manage the timing. So I fixed Alexander with my most beguiling look—the one where I shyly peer up through my bangs and look like a soulful little kid. (Oh yeah, I was fully aware of my charm, and what I could do with it.) “Could you do me one favor then? And it’s the last thing I’ll ask for, besides some decent music to listen to while I’m off in hiding with your goons.” Sure of his victory, he gave a reluctant smile and shake of his head. “What is it?” “I told Quatre—Mister Winner—I wanted to be cremated. Would you tell him to give the ashes to Detective Yuy?” Alexander looked baffled by my request, and I hastily formulated an excuse to give him even before he asked the obvious question. “Why would Yuy want the ashes?” “’Cause after all he an’ Chang and I went through, we kinda bonded,” I told him. And that was true enough. “I told Yuy stuff. He’s probably the only one who’d know where I want my ashes dumped.” “But you technically haven’t died,” Alexander pointed out. “What difference does it make?” “You think my friends won’t realize something’s out of whack if my final wishes aren’t followed?” I pointed out. “And how will I explain to Winner that you specifically wanted Yuy to take the ashes?” he countered, a troubled frown creasing his forehead. “Why don’t I just give them to him?” “No!” I yelped in protest. That wouldn’t do at all! “He doesn’t know where I’d want them taken. Yuy does. And he’ll know something’s off if you just give ‘em to Winner. You’ve got to tell him I wanted Yuy to take them.” “And how will I explain that to Winner? When would you have told me?” “That’s your problem,” I shrugged, trying not to let on why this was so important to me. “Tell him I managed a few last words or something. I dunno. Just make sure when you give him a box of what’s supposed to be my ashes, you get him to promise he’ll get them to Heero.” “Heero?” Alexander’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Oops. “Jesus Christ, Al,” I blurted, using the nickname to wear him down a bit. “Yes, I called him Heero. And I called his partner Wufei—or Wuffers—or ‘Fei-fei—depending on my mood. We were all on a first name basis!” Alexander shook his head and shrugged. “Fine then. Have it your way. I’ll give Winner a box of ashes to dispose of. And I’ll tell him you asked on your death bed for them to go to Yuy.” “—because he’ll know where to take ’em.” “Whatever.” He fixed me with a stern look. “You know that’ll only reinforce the notion that you’re dead.” “I know.” “Thought you didn’t want your friends to buy into it.” “You haven’t given me much of a choice.” And so Round Three went resoundingly to Maxwell—the Master of Manipulation. I had my plan firmly in mind by then. Heero would get the ashes, and if I was any judge of character, he’d head for Euphoria with them. It was a special place—a haven of peace along our troubled journey—and the place where he’d proposed. It just had to stick out in his mind as the one spot I’d like to spend eternity. But what I really wanted was to spend my eternity with him, no matter where we ended up. Like I said before, I couldn’t imagine living without him, now that I’d had a taste of what true love was like. I was totally spoiled for anyone else. Ever. And if it took the rest of my life, I was gonna have Heero back in my arms come Hell or high water! But before all that, my first agenda was to heal up and get back in shape so I could make my escape from FBI clutches before another crooked agent took a notion to finish me off. Hey, I didn’t delude myself into thinking that just because I’d testified against Khushrenada, my life was no longer in danger. Obviously Alexander thought it was. And considering his plans for my future testimony, it seemed pretty obvious to me that someone would want me dead. Knowing what I did about how deep Oz’s tendrils extended into the Bureau, I had no doubt that if I trusted them to protect me, I’d never live to see the inside of a courtroom again. Not if what I knew could in any way harm the syndicate. Fuck, but I was tired of being a target.
tbc... |
