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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 three and sixty four of Witness, timewise.
" Diary of a Protected Witness" Chapter Fifty Two: Hiding Out with Larry and Moe God, Diary, my two babysitters are assholes! Really. You have no idea the crap I’ve had to put up with. Had I known I was going to be cooped up with two of the three Stooges, I’d never have let Alexander leave me here with these morons! They suck at everything from cooking (burned water, for Christ’s sake), to fixing things (the t.v. didn’t work at first, and turned out it was simply not plugged in), to setting up security (their idea of a “perimeter” is to walk around the fenced-in yard once a day). They suck at poker, too. I already cleaned ‘em out of their disposable income, so they won’t let me play any more. Sore losers! They seem to take their protective duty as something of a joke—preferring to watch the ball games on television over keeping an eye on the neighborhood. And we are in a neighborhood—an actual suburban housing development. It’s kind of a weird place to be holed up in hiding—at least compared to where ‘Ro and ‘Fei hid me. I mean, shit. Both Davis and Webster let me go out on a regular basis—to poke around the yard or take the garbage to the curb when they’re too lazy. I got to meet the kid next door yesterday, when his football sailed over the fence while I was poking in the tool shed to see what kind of emergency supplies I might scrape up to take with me when I bolt. And yes, I’m planning to do it the very minute I know the outcome of Khushrenada’s trial. Davis was with me, of course, sitting in a lawn chair and reading his paper. The one thing those two numbnuts do right is to stay within sight of me at all times when we’re outside. Inside, on the other hand, is another story—they totally ignore me, except to call me to meals or tell me to turn my music down. (Yeah, I made Alexander supply me with a boom box and a bunch of decent rock cds, per our deal at the convalescent home.) That’s okay, though. They’re not exactly the kind of people I want to interact with—at all. On top of being flaming idiots, both Webster and Davis are raving homophobes—worse than Chang, for fuck’s sake. They’ve tried not to be obvious about it—at least Davis has—but Webster wouldn’t even shake my hand when Alexander introduced us. And he continues to avoid any and all physical contact. Even when I help with the supper dishes, he won’t hand them directly to me, but will set them in the sink and make me pick them up myself to dry them. As if I’m “unclean,” or somethin’. What a jerk. I’d be tempted to tease and torment him the way I did Chang—but I can’t see any of the potential in him that I saw in the uptight Chinese detective. Even from the get-go, Chang had more goin’ for him. Although he was a homophobe, it was obvious he was also smart, self-assured, and very, very competent. Hot, too. Webster’s just mean, intolerant, and classless. And Davis? He’s beyond lazy. His picture should be in the dictionary next to “sloth.” (No insult to the animal intended.) Of course, considering both guys are chubby, out of shape, and pea-brained, I dunno what else I could expect—except to find out they’re also on the take. Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me in the least. In fact, I overheard the name Sims in one of their conversations yesterday, which made my ears perk right up. We’d just eaten lunch, and since I’d made it, the food was actually palatable. So instead of hiding out by the television, I was cleaning up my cooking utensils. “Y’heard about Sims, didn’t ya?” Davis asked Webster. “Hm? Y’mean that he up an’ got himself blown away. Yeah.” “They’re keepin’ it pretty quiet though.” Webster just shrugged. “I’da thought you’d give a shit—didn’t you two work together back in D.C.?” “Long time ago.” “Still—I’d think you’d wanna know what happened.” “Heard it was a drug bust gone wrong—buncha agents died. Sims’ whole crew and a few civilians.” “More than I’ve heard—,” Davis admitted, fixing his attention on finishing his third helping of the soup I’d made. “Pretty good shit, Solo. Y’make this from scratch?” he asked. I twitched uneasily, not happy to have him turn his attention back to me when I’d been riveted on the subject of their discussion. “Uh, yeah. I used to cook for my boyfriend all the time. He said I was great in the kitchen.” I smirked evilly over my shoulder at Webster, who’d fixed a very cold look on me. “The bedroom, too. Or the back seat of a car—.” The chubby homophobe got up and stalked out before I could start adding details. Dammit. Davis just shook his head and went back to eating his seconds (or was it thirds?), effectively tuning me out. I watched Webster slip out the back door and head for the tool shed, wondering if his past association with Sims was really in the past. And I made myself a solemn promise not to let him get me alone. Not that I trust Davis, either. But there’s just enough friction between the two of them to make me think they aren’t in cahoots. At least I hope not. God, I’ve gotta get outta here!
tbc... |
