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"Witness Protection"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: R Warnings: Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots),
some OOC (probably), violence, drugs, sex, a naughty Duo (i.e. he
has a potty mouth and is a bit, er, slutty)…if you are wedded
to the “pure, chaste” version of Duo, he might be a bit
dark and crude for your taste…ditto for the other characters
in here…hey, Quat’s a lawyer…how much lower could he
get? Pairings: 1X2 eventually, 3X4 also eventually, (past 2X3, 6X2) A/N: I’ll apologize in advance that Zechs is, well, deceased right from the start. I like him a lot, and there’ll be mention of him…but mostly in the form of discussing/investigating his murder. Sorry. Summary: When Zechs Merquise is found murdered,
detectives Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang are tasked with the unenviable
chore of keeping the only witness to the crime alive long enough to
testify against the leader of the Oz syndicate, Treize Khushrenada. "Witness Protection"
When I went downstairs, lost in my somber thoughts, Chang was nowhere to be seen, but the cellar door was open. I concluded he’d gone back to working on the laundry and trying to evade my questions. But I was in no mood to be dodged so easily. I made my way down the stairs to find him stuffing clothes into the washing machine. “I said we weren’t done, and I meant it,” I told him, leaning against the doorway and folding my arms across my chest. “What do you want from me, Yuy?” he asked curtly, closing the lid and turning to face me. “An explanation—preferably one that justifies the way you’re treating Maxwell.” He couldn’t quite meet my eyes, which was in itself a rare thing. “What’s to justify? He’s a criminal—a gang banger and a punk. That we must risk our lives to preserve his is simply unjust—and that he’d deliberately put us all in danger—intolerable.” “It wasn’t deliberate, and you know it.” “You were just as pissed, Yuy. Admit it.” “I was. I got over it. You didn’t, and I want to know why.” “It’s—personal,” he replied evasively. “Can’t we just leave it at that?” “No. You pointed a gun at him. I need to know what drove you so far over the edge.” Granted, I’d pulled a gun on Maxwell myself—just before our ill-fated fling on the safe house floor—but I’d done it for the psychological effect. I’d never have dared pull the trigger. And though I’d threatened to kill Maxwell myself if he didn’t get with the program, it had been nothing but an empty expression of the frustration I’d felt at the time. At so many times. Wufei looked up then, sighing deeply. “If I tell you, it goes no further.” I nodded my agreement. “You remember when I lamented that all the pretty girls seem to go for the gay guys? Well…I grew up with one of those pretty girls. Her name was Meilan, and she was my childhood sweetheart.” He turned so that I couldn’t see his face, gazing off into the shadows of the basement. “We talked about growing up and getting married some day.” Well, that was a revelation in and of itself. I’d never heard Wufei mention the girl before. But then, we didn’t get into personal stuff very often—it seemed to be a taboo subject for us. “We were in high school when Meilan met and fell for a guy she met one day in Chinatown. He was the leader of a gang, and bisexual. Apparently he broke up with a boy from his gang to steal my girlfriend. She dumped me, dropped out of school, and ran off with him…her parents were disconsolate. They tried everything to get her back.” He shook his head ruefully. “To no avail.” I frowned thoughtfully. It seemed rather petty of Chang to hate gays just because one stole a girlfriend—but I sensed there was more to the story, so I held my tongue. “Anyhow…” Chang continued, his voice a bit ragged. “Meilan was with him in Chinatown during some sort of gang war. A rival group tried to kill him in a drive-by, but they got her instead.” “Shit…” I should have seen that coming; Chang wasn’t the type to hold a grudge for no reason. Of course it would be something deeply personal and painfully tragic that motivated such an act. “I was with her parents when they went to the morgue to identify the body,” my partner added in a near-whisper. He looked up with pained eyes. “She was shot six times, Yuy. And her fucking ‘boyfriend’ took off with his gang. She died alone on that street!” “I’m…sorry, Chang,” I said quietly. He gave a short bark of mirthless laughter. “Me too,” he muttered. “To top it all off, she was pregnant. The coroner said she was just a few weeks along—that possibly she didn’t even know it yet.” His dark eyes glimmered with anger. “But what do you want to bet if she’d told her no-good boyfriend he’d have dumped her on the spot?” “You don’t know that,” I asserted. “Maybe he really did love her.” “And maybe he was just using her to help him get in good with the shopkeepers in Chinatown,” came the bitter response. “She spoke fluent Mandarin, and her family name carried great weight among the locals. With at least three gangs vying for control of the drug trade in that area, any advantage was worth taking.” He turned to face me again, putting his hands on his hips. “So—do you understand my hatred for gangs now? As I said, they poison the streets with drugs, corrupt young, innocent minds, and when a young girl gets gunned down on the street—they just leave her there—.” His voice broke on the final sentence. “God, Chang—I had no idea—.” He made a sharp cutting gesture with one hand and shook his head. “Let it be, Yuy. This conversation is over.” He pushed past me, and I watched him stalk quickly up the stairs, his back rigid with tension. “Well, shit,” I muttered. I pushed off the wall to follow him, my mind spinning with the new information. Yes, Chang’s animosity towards gangs seemed much more reasonable now. And yes, I could see where Maxwell raised all sorts of demons for my partner. Between his sexual orientation and his history, Maxwell was a poster boy for all that Chang hated most in the world…right down to that Grim Reaper tattoo on his bicep. It might have been easier to deal with if Chang’s anger was directed at the drug lords and crime bosses like Merquise and Khushrenada. But it was their gang boys he despised the most. His entire attitude with Maxwell stemmed not from the braided man’s association with Merquise—but from Duo himself—from what he’d been, and done, and what he was. I doubt Chang Wufei could have imagined a worse injustice than dying to preserve Maxwell’s life. And his over-the-top reaction to our witness’ latest transgression gained both explicability and validity. But it didn’t assuage my fears. Chang’s explanation had done nothing to mitigate the feelings he held towards gangs and therefore towards Maxwell. What had he said? Heartache? That barely covered the tragedy Wufei suffered at the hands of gangs. I was a little surprised he hadn’t pulled the trigger after all. And I was grateful for my partner’s self-control. We won’t even go into the reasons why. When I got back upstairs, Wufei was watching the late news, which of course had accounts of the “shocking vandalism of attorney Quatre Winner’s hunting lodge,” as well as Treize Khushrenada’s arrest on suspicion of murder, and naturally his release on bail. Chang gave a wry snort. “Bail. As if the bastard couldn’t flee the country six different ways within an hour.” “I’m sure they’ve got him under surveillance.” “So they can wave bye-bye as his private jet takes off…” I was relieved at Chang’s humor, no matter how sarcastically it came across. “Don’t worry about it,” I suggested. “There’s always extradition.” “But meanwhile, it’ll still be you, me and Maxwell, hiding and dodging hit men.” “Let’s just pretend, for the sake of argument and my sanity, that he won’t flee the country,” I said flatly. “He’ll be the smug sonofabitch he’s always been and figure he can beat the charges, and in no time at all, we’ll turn Maxwell over to the D.A. and the sheriff’s department and resume our peaceful life of law enforcement.” “Ah, you paint a pretty picture, Yuy,” smirked my partner, who seemed to have regained his poise following our painful conversation. “With fantasies like that, why don’t you take the first turn at sleeping? I slept last this morning, so you’re due. Besides, your mind is obviously already set for dreaming…” I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Enjoy watching the news, Chang.” Without further discussion, I headed up the stairs, slowing as I passed Maxwell’s door, and leaning to glance in. Sure enough, he’d kicked off enough of his blankets that I could see he did, indeed, sleep in the nude. And yeah, I’d noticed it back in the first safe house the night the hit men came, but honestly, how much time had I really had to enjoy it? He was sprawled face down, legs tangled in the blankets, and arms spread-eagled, snoring quietly. I let my gaze take in the Grim Reaper tattoo, and then examine the others he had. There were kanji symbols for Shinigami, the God of Death on the back of his shoulder, and on his lower back was a pair of stylized angel wings; on his right butt cheek a tiger crouched as if to spring towards them. Of course, that drew my gaze straight to where it shouldn’t have gone—the lean, muscular buttocks and thighs and the cleft of his exposed ass. And I closed my eyes and groaned, fighting the urge to start licking at his ankles and work my way up that perfectly delicious looking body. I made the mistake of opening my eyes before I turned away, and my breath caught in my throat as Maxwell murmured in his sleep and rolled over, giving me even more to look at. God, he had a body that wouldn’t quit! My eyes slid from his closed ones to the soft, relaxed lips—down the hard-muscled chest and flat abs to his groin. And that was every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. I hadn’t had much time for just looking at him when we’d made love on the safe house floor. Wait! Scratch that! We fucked…plain and simple. I needed to keep that clear in my mind before I sank any deeper under the Maxwell spell. But there in the darkened hallway, I had all the time in the world to just watch him sleep—to let my eyes caress the skin my hands ached to touch. After a few minutes of that self-imposed torture, I pulled myself away with a Herculean effort, staggering back a step or two and sucking in a much needed breath. I must have made some kind of sound, because Maxwell stirred, mumbling restlessly, and I fled down the hall before he could wake up and catch me standing there staring. But I knew what kind of dreams I’d have that night.
I awakened to the sound of a steady, heavy rain on the roof, and a hint of daylight peeping at the edges of my drawn shades. When I tried to sit up, my overtaxed muscles protested, and I groaned at the lingering fatigue, vowing to step up my exercise program before the next forty-mile hike I made. When I finally pushed myself upright, stretching to loosen up, I wondered why Chang hadn’t awakened me. And why I smelled food, and—coffee? Oh, God, was Maxwell cooking again? I shoved off the covers and grabbed my clothes, making a quick stop at the bathroom to freshen up, and checking Maxwell’s room on my way past to determine that he had, indeed, already gotten up. Within minutes I was padding down the stairs in a pair of borrowed slippers, drooling over the scent of brewing coffee. Wufei was sound asleep on the couch, and I stopped in my tracks, both concerned and a bit irritated. He’d fallen asleep on the job, which under normal circumstances would have been inexcusable. But these weren’t normal circumstances at all. We’d all been deprived of sleep, shot at and chased. Even the brief naps we’d managed to grab had been restless at best. I could understand Chang’s fatigue. On top of our harrowing escape from the previous safe house, we’d dealt with the discovery of Maxwell’s foolishness, and the issues Wufei had with gangs and gays in general. It’s a wonder any of us had stayed awake as long as we did. The alarm system certainly would have sounded if there’d been an intruder—and knowing we had that extra bit of security, I could forgive Chang’s lapse. Not that I’d ever let him live it down… Tiptoeing past him, I headed for the kitchen, wondering if I’d be treated to the amusing sight of Maxwell in an apron again. But this morning he was in sweats and a tee shirt, his feet clad only in socks and his braid looking rather unkempt. I’d never seen him look so disheveled; even in the car he’d always taken the time to brush out his extraordinary hair. “Rough night?” I teased, making a beeline for the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup. He turned from flipping pancakes, to reveal a face lined with fatigue. And although he gave a wan smile, it was half-hearted at best. “Guess I got used to sleeping on the ground,” he shrugged, walking over and setting a plate piled with pancakes on the table. “Where’d you find pancake mix that hadn’t spoiled?” I wondered aloud. “And doesn’t it take milk to make pancakes?” He gave another shrug, and I realized how listless he seemed. “There was powdered milk in a vacuum-sealed jar…powdered eggs…frozen butter. They really stocked this place for an all-out siege.” “Bacon?” I said, fixated on the meal. “Orange juice? How long have you been up?” “Awhile.” He picked up his coffee cup and sat at the table, putting a couple of pancakes and some bacon on his plate, and slathering the whole mess in maple syrup. I followed his example—minus the overload of syrup—with my mouth watering in anticipation. “Was Chang asleep when you got up?” “Yeah.” “And he hasn’t moved?” “Not a hair.” “He’s usually a light sleeper,” I mused, slicing my meal into bite-sized pieces. “Sleep with him often?” came a rather tart reply. I looked up sharply. “Only on stakeouts,” I said, biting back a more sarcastic retort. “And generally he’s on a hair trigger.” Maxwell used a piece of pancake to sop up some of the excess syrup his bacon was swimming in. “I don’t make much noise.” I couldn’t help it—I snorted skeptically, thinking of his music, his mouth, and his attitude. Though I did have to admit, he could move very quietly when he wanted to. “Except during sex,” he added helpfully, keeping his gaze demurely on his food. Oh God, I knew how true that was—and a memory of his groans and the screamed obscenities as he came made me pause with a bite halfway to my mouth. He ran a finger across his syrupy plate and stuck it in his mouth, sucking noisily on the sweet, sticky substance. “Goddamnit—!” I was halfway to my feet, my only goal to kiss and lick every drop of syrup from his lips (and then maybe pour it over the rest of him and do more of the same), when Chang stumbled wearily into the kitchen, stopping me in place. “Yuy? Oh fuck, you’re up! I—I’m sorry I fell asleep!” he blurted in horror. “It’s okay, Wufei,” I assured him, my voice just a bit hoarse. “We were all pretty much exhausted—and with the alarm system, there was no real danger. No harm done.” I turned to face him, gesturing to the table with a less than steady hand. “Breakfast?” He looked from me to Maxwell, and I could see him visibly compose himself before nodding assent. “Sounds good.” I settled back into my seat as he went over and poured himself some coffee before joining us at the table. And as I resumed eating, I noticed that Maxwell hadn’t said a word—no teasing, sniping or banter—not even a “good morning” to my partner. I looked searchingly at him, but he seemed focused on fishing his bacon out of the syrup and eating it. In fact, he was fixated on it to the exclusion of all else. I couldn’t tell if his mood was sullen and defiant, or if he was just worn down and beaten; but either way, he’d withdrawn from interaction of any kind, and I found it unexpectedly disturbing. I didn’t want to think he was afraid of Chang; but then, my partner had pulled a gun on him. If that ever got back to Captain Po, Wufei could lose his badge. Perhaps that was on both of their minds. Finishing his last bite, Maxwell got up and took the dishes to the sink, rinsing them under hot water and then squeezing in some dish soap and proceeding to wash them. By the time Chang and I were done eating, our witness had cleaned and put away all the cookware and dishes except what we were using. Then he turned to fix me with a steady, somber look. “I’ll be in my room,” he said politely, walking out before my jaw finished hitting the floor. Chang looked no less nonplussed. “Yuy? What’s with him?” “He told me last night that he’d report every move he makes to us. I’d assume that’s what he just did.” “No shit.” The onyx eyes narrowed fractionally. “So he’s sulking?” “No.” I shook my head. “More like—,” broken “—cooperating. I think it really bothered him that his phone call brought so much trouble down on us.” “It should.” “Wufei—.” Dark eyes flashed. “I’m not speaking from prejudice now, Yuy. He screwed up. Regardless of any personal issues I have with him, he was wrong.” “He knows that.” My partner sat back, sighing deeply. “And there you go defending him—again.” He frowned at me, and I tensed, waiting for an accusation or speculation, but none came. “We all make mistakes,” I said carefully, refraining from pointing out that he’d just fallen asleep on duty. And yes, I also refrained from mentioning the gun he pulled on Maxwell, or my own numerous transgressions (which I hoped Chang never found out about). Wufei nodded. “You’re right. And no matter how often I’ve said I’d try harder—I seem to keep losing my perspective when it comes to Maxwell.” He pinned me with a disconcerting gaze. “So do you, and I’m at a loss to explain it.” “He defies explanation,” I said simply. Chang let out a burst of laughter at that. “You have a gift for understatement, Yuy.” I merely shrugged. “At any rate, I’m going to take a walk around the yard and check out the vehicle in the garage. You can find yourself a bedroom and get some real rest if you like.” He nodded. “I only dozed off around dawn I think.” The dark eyes found the clock on the microwave. “I probably got two…maybe three hours of sleep. I could definitely use more.” “Then by all means, get your ass to bed.” I looked at the rain running down the windows, and the flat grayness beyond. “Miserable weather; we’re lucky we got here when we did.” My partner shuddered dramatically. “I can’t imagine trying to haul our gear and Maxwell through that kind of downpour.” It was on the tip of my tongue to defend Duo once again—to point out that he’d hiked uncomplainingly for all forty-plus miles we’d gone. Aside from a groan or grumble now and then, he’d been an amazingly good sport. And that was before we knew it was his phone call that got us into trouble—so it couldn’t have been guilt that motivated his spirit of cooperation. He’d tried to help bandage my leg, too, that first night in the woods, and I’d forcibly rebuffed him. I felt worse about that now than ever. He hadn’t been making any sexual overture at the time. I was beginning to learn the difference between his smart-ass attitude and the more genuine side he was starting to let show. “Although,” Wufei continued with a pensive look on his face as he gazed into his coffee cup, “in all fairness, I have to admit, he carried his weight out there.” “Yes, he did,” I agreed quickly. Seizing upon the opening, I gave my partner a long, frank look. “I’ve never known you to be an unfair man, Wufei. Maybe if you just—try to see past the labels you’ve placed on him, you’ll find he’s not so intolerable after all.” Chang gave a quiet chuckle. “I’ll have to sleep on that, Yuy. But—maybe.” He got up and headed out of the kitchen to get some rest, and I washed the few remaining dishes and went outside. It was pouring rain still—coming down in steady sheets across the flat gray landscape. The water in the lake was peppered by drops, stirred into a silvery mist where the rain met the surface. It was quite beautiful, really. And I recalled that I’d wanted to share that beauty with Maxwell the previous night. But there’d be no loon-watching in the heavy rain. I made my perimeter sweep fairly quickly, taking notice of the dock and boathouse on the shore of the lake, as well as a small, sandy beach and a raft that was anchored about a hundred feet offshore. It looked like the perfect vacation getaway for a family. When I let myself into the boathouse, using the same key code the house required, I found a canoe, a rowboat, and two motorboats…one of which looked sleek and fast, while the other seemed better suited to fishing or just cruising the lake. I decided Maxwell didn’t need to know about the damned speed boat, and found myself smirking as I locked up the building and headed back up towards the house. I was soaked to the skin by the time I’d finished my brief tour, but knowing there was a hot shower available, I almost enjoyed the trek through the rain. When I got to the garage, I found a sporty little convertible and another solid SUV. It didn’t take me a minute to pull the wires on the convertible and stash them behind a couple of gas cans, where Maxwell would be unlikely to find them. Not that I thought he’d bolt again—but honestly, the man was a veritable powder keg, and it was damned hard to tell what would set him off at any given time. I needn’t have worried. When the time came for supper, I’d spent a singularly quiet afternoon taking a shower and dressing in warm, dry clothes—then watching a bit of the news on t.v. to catch up on current events. It’s funny how trudging through the wilderness can distance you from reality. I watched news chronicling Khushrenada’s arrest and subsequent release on bail with a strange sense of detachment. Frankly, the task of investigating and building the case was out of my hands; my only job was to get the witness to the trial alive and able to testify. I watched two of the other detectives in the department ushering Khushrenada into the precinct, and then Captain Po telling the press that there would be no information released this early in the investigation. Of course, Khushrenada’s attorney, a slimy shark named Septum, claimed it was all a mistake—that the police had persecuted his innocent client for years, and that Merquise’s death was due to his own shady dealings and had nothing to do with the head of Romefeller Industries. Right. I muted the sound as I heard a faint noise from upstairs. A door closed, and I heard footsteps in the hallway, and then the sound of the shower. I glanced at the clock, realizing it was late enough that Chang must be up and about. Sure enough, he came downstairs shortly thereafter, and settled in one of the armchairs. “I see you’re catching up on the latest in the case,” he noted, gesturing to the muted television. “Is that Dorothy Catalonia with Septum?” I looked back in surprise. Sure enough, one of the public defenders had apparently partnered with the firm that was defending Khushrenada. “Well shit.” “You know she’s always been ambitious,” Chang noted. “I’m surprised she stayed a public defender as long as she did.” He shook his head. “The woman’s got a vicious streak, Yuy. I hope Maxwell’s up for a painful cross-examination.” “He’s tough,” I said firmly. “He can handle her. Look at the way he held up in interrogation.” “That’s because he was on familiar turf. The witness stand will be a new experience for him.” “The D.A. will have him ready,” I assured my partner. “Noventa’s one of the best.” Wufei nodded. “Shall I see what we have for supper?” he asked, standing and stretching. “You can brief me on what to watch for while I do a perimeter sweep before dark, and then we can check in with Po.” We made our way out to the kitchen and were busy preparing microwaveable meals when Maxwell sauntered in, still wearing the same baggy sweats he’d had on in the morning. He eyed both Chang and me as he headed for the refrigerator, snagging a can of soda and then pausing by the table. “You want me to whip something up?” he asked helpfully. Wufei had his back to him, or Maxwell might have seen the way my partner’s jaw tightened, and the concerted effort he made at civility. “We need no help here, Maxwell,” he said coolly. The indigo eyes darted a quick glance at me, as if asking for confirmation of that fact, and I shrugged noncommittally. “Fine,” Maxwell said quietly. “I’ll stay the fuck out of the way.” He walked back out as quickly as he’d entered, and I cast a scathing glare at Chang. “Jesus, Wufei.” “What?” demanded my partner, turning to face me. “I didn’t snap at him. I just told him we don’t need his help.” He waved a microwave meal box at me. “We’ve got dinner covered.” “Yes, but the way you worded it—.” “What should I have said?” “A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” Wufei gave a frustrated huff. “I’m not used to pleasantries, Yuy. Even if I didn’t despise Maxwell, I’d have said it the same way. Do I have to change my wording on everything?” “No, you don’t,” I sighed. “But maybe next time he asks, you could just let him help. Let him feel useful. I mean, shit Chang, there’s nothing else for him to do here. At least cooking would keep him occupied.” I wistfully recalled the previous night’s delicious meal as the timer on the microwave dinged. “Besides, no offense, but he’s a better cook than either of us!” Chang ducked his head at that, acknowledging the truth. “Very well,” he sighed. “Next time I’ll turn the kitchen over to him.” But that “next time” never came.
The next two days passed in perfect, peaceful silence. Chang and I did our perimeter sweeps, learned every inch of the property we were defending, checked in with the Captain, and caught up on some much-needed rest. Maxwell took to eating in his room. He’d pad quietly through the safe house, slip into the kitchen and make himself some soup, or a bowl of whatever we’d cooked for dinner, and then he’d disappear back up the stairs. He even went so far as to bring the dishes down and wash and put them away without being asked. It was—unsettling—to say the least. I half expected to find him sobbing into his pillow every time I walked past the door that he left conspicuously ajar. But usually he was just sprawled across his bed listening to music on the headphones and doodling in some sort of sketch pad. The only emotion I ever detected when he glanced up as I passed was stubborn defiance. While his body went through the motions, and his behavior was totally compliant, I thought a trace of his willful spirit remained. And strangely, I longed to see it blossom once again. I’d have given anything for him to blow up at me for something—to call me an asshole and curse my profession. But he never did. He didn’t flirt, or tease, or interact with Chang and me in any way, except to answer direct questions—and I didn’t seem to have any to ask. The third day I called Winner. While I knew our battery supply was dangerously low, I also knew Maxwell was slipping into a place from which I feared he’d never come back. “Winner speaking.” “Quatre—it’s Heero—er, Detective Yuy.” He must have caught the somber tone of my voice. “Oh God—is Duo all right? You’re calling me instead of Po! What’s happened?” “Nothing—nothing!” I assured him. “He’s fine. At least—physically he’s fine.” I heard a voice in the background demanding to know what was going on. Barton’s voice? I raised an eyebrow at that. “It’s okay, Trowa. No, he’s not hurt, right Heero?” “Right!” I said quickly. “So—what did you mean by ‘physically he’s fine’ then?” Trust Winner to get right to the point. The man didn’t miss a trick. “He seems—quiet,” I said, fumbling for the right way to describe his mood. “Subdued.” “I’d have expected you to enjoy that.” Was that a hint of accusation in Winner’s voice? I bristled at the implied criticism. “He’s not acting like himself,” I said curtly. “I thought maybe you could talk to him—find out what’s on his mind.” “For Allah’s sake, Yuy. You’re a grown man. Can’t you talk to him?” “Not if I’m part of the problem,” I retorted. “Look—I kind of blew up at him the other day. When I found out about his phone call to that Schbeiker woman—.” “Oh.” There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Captain Po told me about the call. I imagine Duo feels pretty badly about it.” “He should. He almost got us all killed.” “And no doubt that fact is weighing heavily on his mind right now. Do you really think he needs the burden of you laying a guilt trip on him about it?” I heard Trowa’s voice again—sharp and demanding—wanting to talk to Duo. “Hush—just let me handle this!” Winner told him firmly. “Heero? Still there? Yes, I’ll talk to Duo, if you could put him on.” “Just a minute.” I climbed the stairs two at a time and tapped on Maxwell’s open door. He looked up from the pad on which he was writing—or maybe drawing. “Yeah—whaddaya want?” I held out the phone. “Winner’s on the line.” Maxwell flipped the notebook shut and sat up. “Thought we were saving the batteries.” His tone was faintly sarcastic. I shoved the phone at him. “Just take it!” I snapped. His fingers brushed mine as he took the phone, and I saw a visible wince. Where the hell did that come from, I wondered, as I headed for the door to give him some privacy. “Quat? Hey, it is you,” he said, brightening. “What’s up man? Me? I’m fine, why?” I couldn’t help my very bad habit of eavesdropping. What can I say? I’m cursed with keen ears and way too much curiosity. “No…I’m not. Well, maybe a little.” I could almost picture the casual shrug. “It’s…a little lonely,” he said so quietly I barely heard it. “Naw. Sheesh, Quat, stop worrying. And what’s this I hear about you ogling my ass that night at the police station, hm?” He chuckled slyly, and my embarrassment at having Winner find out about my slip-up was overridden by relief at hearing Maxwell laugh. “’S okay, Quat. You’re hot, too. Seriously hot. Got that whole dreamy blue-eyed thing goin’ on. Hm? Yeah, you do!” It was incredible to hear the teasing banter slide off his tongue again after three days of near-silence. God, how I’d missed that voice—that laugh! “Tro’?” Maxwell’s voice rose in delight, a slight hitch at the end. “Fuck—it’s good to hear your voice,” he said breathlessly. “I wish I could see you…” There were a couple of minutes of silence, as he must have been listening raptly to his former lover. “Yeah, me too.” I heard an audible sigh, even from my position halfway down the hall. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m just—tired of all this. I want my life back.” He drew a shaky breath. “Yeah, him too. I had to watch the funeral on t.v., Tro’. It just—hurt. A lot. I lost my head is all. It won’t happen again.” I heard him pacing restlessly across his room. “I promised to behave—and I have been.” Then he chuckled at something Barton said. “Huh. Figures.” There were a few more moments of silence, and then Maxwell spoke up again. “I know. Gotta save the batteries anyway. Hey—do me a favor? Kiss the living shit outta Quat, hm? Yeah, I can tell you like him. Why else would you conveniently be there when he called me? Hm? What do you mean, Yuy called him? Why?” Shit. All I needed was for Maxwell to think I’d been worrying about him. “Psh—yeah, right. No Tro’. I think you’re delusional.” The faintly mocking tone was back in Maxwell’s voice. “Okay. I’ll take your word for that. You take care of yourself, okay? If I lost you, too—.” He gave a sort of choked laugh. “Yeah, hang on.” There was a brief pause, and then, “You can come in, Yuy. I think Quat wants another minute of your time.” I blushed at being caught. I should’ve known the master of stealth would realize I hadn’t gone far. “I wasn’t—. I didn’t mean to overhear anything,” I said fumblingly as he met me at the door with the cell phone. “It’s called ‘eavesdropping,’ Yuy. And yeah, you did mean to overhear every word.” The indigo eyes met mine in a piercingly direct manner that took my breath away. “I didn’t expect any less. Y’got no reason to trust me.” He shoved the phone back into my hand and went back to throw himself across the bed, resuming his drawing as if I wasn’t there. I put the phone to my ear, wondering if Maxwell was trying to apologize for taking off, or warn me he might do it again. “Yuy.” “Eavesdropping is very bad form,” came Quatre’s chiding voice. “You’re one to talk,” I countered, since he’d just done it himself. He gave a wry chuckle. “Not my fault you held the phone too close to your mouth.” “Not my fault Maxwell’s voice carries into the hallway,” I retorted rather lamely. “What did you want, Winner?” “Your Captain expressed some concern about your laptop surveillance system being destroyed. I thought I might arrange a delivery…personally.” I grimaced a little, heading back downstairs as I pondered the idea. “Sounds awfully risky. If you were followed—.” “Ah, but I won’t be. I’d have a—friend—drive me. On his motorcycle.” “Oh.” I caught the hint at once. He was suggesting Barton could bring him, thus killing two birds with one stone. They’d deliver a new laptop and fulfill Maxwell’s wish to see his former lover. “That might be a very good idea,” I mused. “We could use cell batteries and groceries, too.” “I’m sure we can accommodate those needs, and I know a bit of company would please my client.” Yeah—a little too much, unless I missed my guess. Although, on the plus side, it would take Maxwell’s attention off me. He and Barton could screw each other silly while I stayed focused on my job. “Do it,” I said firmly, trying to squelch a small specter of jealousy at the thought of Barton enjoying the feel of Maxwell’s lean, lithe body the way I so recently had. I’d already told myself it could never happen again. I couldn’t let my desires get in the way of my mission. And Maxwell had backed off—which made it easier to avoid a repeat performance. “I’ll have the Captain contact you with a date and ETA.” “Understood.” “And Heero?” “Hm?” “Be gentle with him. No matter how good a front he puts up, he’s still hurting inside. I can feel it—hear it in his voice. You were right to call me.” “I just want to keep him safe,” I said quietly. “From himself, if necessary.” Quatre laughed again. “He’s not suicidal, Yuy.” “Well you wouldn’t know that from some of the shit he’s pulled.” “He’s restless—that’s all. It’s hard for him to be inactive for this long.” “For his defense attorney, you know an awful lot about him.” “I’ve got his best friend right beside me, Yuy. And he’s told me a lot that I need to know—that you need to know.” “All I need to know is that he’ll be fit to testify when we finally get a trial date.” “Hm—and that’s why you were worried enough to call me about his mood,” teased the blonde. “Winner!” “Catch you later, Yuy. Gotta run…” He hung up before I could try to deny any emotional
interest in Maxwell. But that was probably for the best; I’ve
always been a lousy liar.
tbc... |
