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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" Chapter Twenty Six: Comfort As Wufei headed out the door for his moment of solitude, I began rummaging through cupboards to do a quick inventory of our food in case I missed anything on the grocery list I’d made. The patter of feet on the stairs had me moving to the doorway of the kitchen in time to see Maxwell skip lightly down the steps, and walk over to retrieve his sketch pad. He waved it in my direction, looking a bit embarrassed; he had to know we’d looked through some of it. “Can’t help drawing the hot guys,” he quipped, his haggard face not quite matching his cheery tone as he started up the stairs, clutching the book to his chest. “Maxwell—.” He paused, stiffening. “Let it go, Yuy,” he said coldly. “Your partner already apologized for stepping in my shit with both feet. I don’t want to hear it from you. Case closed.” Of course. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of a trauma like that, even if it was on the tip of my tongue to offer to listen if he felt like talking. But the chill in his voice reminded me too much of what he’d been like at the start of our trip, and I didn’t like it. “So Mister Tough-Guy Maxwell doesn’t need anyone or anything, does he?” I chided, using the same tone he’d hit me with the previous night. I got a sharp, startled look, and the arms he had around his drawing pad tightened fractionally. “You offering something?” “Just—to listen.” “So you know a little about it, eh?” “I used to work vice. Yeah, I know a little about it.” “Thanks anyway, Yuy. Nothing personal—but I don’t talk to cops.” My anger flared at the way he used the word “cops” like an insult. “Dammit, Maxwell, just once could you forget I’m a cop?” I snapped. “You first!” he challenged, glaring back. “I did,” I countered, meeting him glare for glare. “And look what happened!” “You were drunk.” As if that made my breach of regulations acceptable… “I was sober enough.” “And I had your gun.” Yet another screw-up on my part. Way to remind me how badly I’d blundered, Maxwell! “At first,” I reminded him. He hesitated, frowning slightly. Oh, had he forgotten I got my gun away from him right before I stripped him and fucked him? “You weren’t exactly in your right mind,” he finally concluded. “Just—stop trying to deny what you are. You’re a cop, through and through, Yuy. And like I said, I don’t talk to cops.” “You just fuck them, is that it?” The indigo eyes narrowed. “It seems to be what most of them want.” Oh shit—was it a cop who’d molested him? “Maxwell—.” He shook his head. “Let it go.” “Fine,” I conceded, deciding to let him win one round. I thought he looked a bit relieved as he nodded. “Well—I’m gonna take a nice long shower, I guess,” he told me. “Got all sweaty sitting out on the deck in the sun—and right now I don’t think Wuffers could handle seeing me in the hot tub.” I glanced at the clock. “Don’t take all night, Maxwell. Chang and I will be starting supper soon.” He looked over his shoulder at me, frowning in apparent confusion. “Since when did you and Chang care whether I eat with you or not?” he asked, the snide edge dulled by weariness. “Y’think I never ate cold leftovers before?” “Du—Maxwell…why don’t you just drop the attitude?” I suggested, not unkindly. “I—we want you to eat with us because there’s a surprise for you.” He raised an eyebrow. “A surprise?” “Yes.” I surreptitiously crossed my fingers, hoping Winner and Barton got here in time for supper. “A good one.” For a moment the indigo eyes slid down to my crotch, and Maxwell very nearly smirked. But then he shook his head, sighing and closing his eyes. “Yuy—the only good news you could give me would be that Khushrenada confessed, called off his hit men, and then shot himself out of remorse.” He opened his eyes to fix a cool look on me. “I’m assuming that hasn’t happened.” He looked so—forlorn—that for a moment, I wanted to climb those five stairs between us and wrap him in a hug. Of course, thinking of hugging him brought back memories of how he felt pressed up against me—and the flicker of guilt and anger helped quell any sympathetic urges. “I—wish it had,” I shrugged, turning and heading for the kitchen before my emotions overcame my common sense. Maxwell didn’t need coddling. He didn’t need hugs and empty words of encouragement. He especially didn’t need those things from me, which was why I had Winner bringing his friend along. Barton could do the comforting, while I tried to regain my professional detachment. At least I was honest enough with myself to use the word “tried.” My body had already betrayed me on more than one occasion, and my emotions were close behind. While my rational mind assured me there was nothing between Maxwell and myself, I couldn’t help feeling drawn to him. And I hated it. I hated wanting something I knew I couldn’t have.
Wufei took his sweet time “gathering his thoughts,” and as he was walking in, long after I’d finished the food inventory, my cell phone rang. “Yuy.” “Winner here.” His voice was barely audible over the roar of an engine, and I started to smile, picturing him on the back of the motorcycle Maxwell had given Barton. “Are you close?” “Five minutes away! Put the oven on low so we can throw the pizzas in there to stay warm when we arrive.” “Pizza?” I sighed. “Maxwell’s favorite?” “You know it! Ciao!” He left me staring at the phone as he hung up. “Ciao?” Chang snorted as he walked over to the refrigerator. “That’s yuppy-speak for ‘see you later,’ Yuy.” “I know what it means. I’ve just never heard Winner say anything like that before.” I put down the cell phone and went to turn the oven to “warm.” I’d know Quatre Winner for at least three or four years. He’d been a young hotshot fresh out of law school when he took the job of public defender. Brash and idealistic, he’d struck those of us in the department as a flash in the pan; someone who’d quickly tire of fighting the system and move on to more lucrative ventures in a private legal practice. He proved us all wrong by not only excelling at his job, but seeming to love it. He had a sharp mind, knew the law inside and out, and was a terror in the courtroom. I’d seen him outmaneuver sly old prosecutors—beating them at their own game, and quickly making enemies out of most of them. And he did it with the utmost class, a sweet smile on that angelic face, and a shrewd gleam in the baby blue eyes. Who’d have thought a sweet kid like him would not only survive, but dominate the legal profession? More to the point, who’d have ever thought he’d end up hip-deep in the Khushrenada case, helping us keep our star witness safe; let alone riding for two days on a motorcycle with said witness’ ex-lover, who also happened to be a stripper? Clearly, he was a multi-faceted individual, and I made a mental note to never underestimate Quatre Winner again. A man who could go from courtroom shark to biker babe in the blink of an eye warranted extra respect in my book. “Where’s Maxwell?” “In the shower.” I cocked my head and could hear the faint music from the upstairs bathroom over the sound of running water. “Sounds like he left the door open,” I told Chang, giving a vicious little smirk. “Do you want to go get him when they arrive?” “Fuck you,” growled my partner. But his curse lacked venom, and I could tell he was still in a rather subdued mood. “Seriously, Chang,” I said, sobering. “Did you manage to clear your head a bit?” I eyed his clothes, which were slightly rumpled and dirty, and guessed that he’d done some kind of workout or kata to help him relax and get centered. “Yes. I dealt with my wounded pride,” he admitted. “And I’ll be more careful of what I say around Maxwell from now on, so I don’t ever have to eat crow like that again.” “But we aren’t having crow; we’re having pizza,” I quipped, giving him my best rendition of Duo’s cocked head and teasing smirk. He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Gods, Yuy, he’s contagious!” “Only his warped sense of humor,” I pointed out, feeling the tension ease out of me. Winner and Barton were probably pulling into the driveway as we spoke, and a sense of ultimate relief was warring with a tiny twinge of envy. On the one hand, we’d have reinforcements—and on the other, I’d probably have to listen to Maxwell’s headboard banging on the wall between our rooms for the next several nights. Okay—the tension was back right on the heels of that thought. I busied myself with laying out plates and napkins, while Wufei went up to his room to change clothes. The beep of the alarm being deactivated alerted me that Winner was there, and then in the next moment he and Barton came stumbling into the kitchen from the garage, laughing hilariously over some shared joke and carrying several pizza boxes stacked in Barton’s arms. “Oven, Yuy!” “Right here.” I opened the door just in time, and Winner steered Barton over to stuff all five boxes into the roomy oven. The blonde then pulled off the motorcycle helmet he was still wearing and gave me a wide smile, looking windblown and unreasonably happy. “Good to see you,” he greeted me pleasantly, holding out a hand. I shook it, smiling back. “Better to see you,” I assured him. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?” Barton straightened and closed the oven door, then pulled off his own helmet, shaking out the mane of auburn hair. “We weren’t followed,” he assured me, green eyes intent. “We took back roads, gravel roads, and dirt bike trails.” He rubbed his rear end rather gingerly. “Hard riding,” he grumbled. “But it’s for damn sure no one could have kept up without our knowing it.” “Good.” The green eyes went past me towards the living room, where the television was still on the “how they make it” channel. “Where’s Duo?” he asked eagerly. “In the shower. I’ll get him in a minute.” “Just tell me where, and I can—.” “I’ll do it!” I softened my too-hasty response by nodding towards the garage. “First we should bring in the rest of your things.” I helped our two guests hang up their riding gear, and we made a trip out to the garage to bring in the saddlebags full of supplies. It was amazing how much they’d managed to pack on the luggage rack and in the bags. And when I pulled that shiny new laptop out, I wanted to kiss Winner. “Quatre Winner—you are—.” I shook my head, lost for words. “This is even better than the one I had.” “I know,” he said with a wink and a grin. “Only the best for Duo’s protector.” I gave him a sharp look at that. “You make it sound so medieval. I’m just a cop on a protective detail.” The blonde shrugged, walking over and sitting at the table, and then just as quickly standing up. “Ah! You’re right, Trowa! That bike seat was downright hard!” He rubbed his butt theatrically. Barton gave a short laugh. “Sorry. It’s not a touring bike—doesn’t have the cushy seats and fancy sound system a Goldwing would have.” “But it got us here, and that’s what counts,” Quatre assured him, with a smile I thought was a bit soft and wistful. Ah, the blonde lawyer had it bad. “I’d like to set up the surveillance right after supper,” I said, laying the laptop on the counter and plugging it in to get things started. “I still have my software intact, and should be able to get it loaded and ready in no time.” “Sounds good,” Winner agreed. “But I’m famished! Do you think Duo’s almost done?” “I’ll get him,” I offered again. “If you and Barton could put away the perishables?” Oh God was that fresh milk? My mouth watered at the thought of fruit, vegetables, and bread…items we’d been sorely lacking at the lake house. “Is there room in the fridge for the beer?” Barton piped up, pulling a couple of six-packs out of one bag. Six-packs of imported, dark beer…Duo’s favorite, no doubt. I quelled a twinge of resentment. Of course Barton knew everything that Maxwell loved—they’d only been friends and fuck-buddies for how long? I walked quickly from the kitchen and climbed the stairs, eager to get the reunion over with so I could resume my official duties; without distractions, this time. The bathroom door was ajar, and the music blasting down the hall just loudly enough to make me want to plug my ears. But I stalked closer, putting a hand out to push the door open, only to pause at the sight before me. Duo was shirtless, his long hair unbound as he ran a brush through the nearly-dry strands. His back was to the door, but I could see his reflection in the mirror; his eyes were closed, and he was quietly singing along with the music, swaying his hips in time to the beat. From time to time, he’d take a little shuffle-step with his feet as if practicing a dance routine; and then he’d rock his head from side to side, swinging that mane of chestnut silk around him like a veil. He was in a world all his own, and the sight just took my breath away. And then the indigo eyes opened, and he caught a glimpse of me in the mirror and paused his private show, fixing a questioning look on my face. I don’t know what I expected—if I thought that he’d be self-conscious or blush at being caught in such an unguarded moment. But he wasn’t and he didn’t. He only smirked suggestively, raising an eyebrow. Before I could pull myself together, clear my throat, and speak up, I saw another reflection in the mirror as Barton reached the top step of the stairs and headed our way. Duo saw him as well, and spun with a cry of sheer delight, dropping the brush and dashing past me to literally throw himself into Barton’s arms. Fuck. Why did the sight of him with those leopard-spotted arms wound around his back make my stomach knot? I knew goddamned well that he and his dance partner had been lovers. I guess I just thought that had all ended with Merquise’s arrival. But then, hadn’t I been counting on them picking up where they left off? Duo had his face buried in Barton’s shoulder, and the other man was running a hand up and down the long, silky hair and Duo’s back in a soothing gesture. A fucking caress. Feeling an unreasoning upwelling of jealousy, I stalked past them and went back down the stairs, giving them privacy for whatever reunion they wanted. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. There was nothing between Duo and me. Beyond a physical attraction and the resultant sexual tension—we had nothing. No relationship…not even what could rightly be called affection. So why did it hurt so much that he’d been so openly joyful at Barton’s arrival? Was it because I’d never once seen a look like that from him? He looked like a kid at Christmas getting the one thing he wanted the most—young and unrestrainedly happy—without the hard edge and brass. Quatre was waiting in the living room, and looked up as I entered. “Trowa was impatient,” he said with a slight shrug. “He talked of nothing but Duo on the way up here—when he talked at all, that is.” He gave a small, wry smile. Wufei came pattering down the stairs, his expression dark. “Yuy! Care to explain why that painted freak and Maxwell are up in the hallway making out?” I put a splayed hand over my face. “They missed each other?” I ventured with more humor than I felt. “We weren’t making out,” came Duo’s voice from just behind Wufei. He and Barton were a few steps behind my partner, walking side by side, each with an arm around the other’s waist. “It was just one kiss.” “One hell of a kiss,” Barton smirked, green eyes shining. He pulled free, slapping Duo playfully on the ass and then walking over to Quatre, stopping just close enough to make me wonder about the burgeoning relationship between those two. If they were a couple, how the hell could Quatre not resent Duo’s place in Barton’s affections? I looked up in time to receive a calculating look from indigo eyes. I stared back, unable to keep my gaze from traveling down the sleek flow of Duo’s loose hair, and wondering how it would feel to touch it. My jaw nearly dropped when Duo blushed, and turned aside, pulling his hair over one shoulder and beginning to weave it into its customary braid. “So that was your surprise, Yuy? Letting me have visitors?” “I didn’t let you have visitors,” I said curtly. “Your lawyer requested a chance to talk to you in person, and suggested bringing along some needed supplies and a familiar face to cheer you up.” Finishing his work and pulling a hair tie out of a too-tight pocket to fasten his hair, the braided man turned, putting his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t cheerful enough?” he demanded. I just shrugged. Perhaps my choice of words was a little off. “You’ve been a bit—moody?” “You’ve been a pain in the ass,” Wufei clarified, never one to mince words. (Just people.) Duo turned a look on me that could have been teasing, angry, or sarcastic—or all three rolled into one. “I’d say you’re the ‘pain in the ass’ here,” he said with a hint of a sultry challenge in his voice. God, I hoped I wasn’t blushing. I half expected him to add “—literally” to what he’d said, and leave me trying to explain why. Quatre came to my rescue. “Yuy’s not the one who made a phone call that tipped Khushrenada’s people off to your location and got my hunting lodge shot to Hell.” Duo’s gaze dropped to the floor, and I could almost feel the temperature in the room fall. “I’m sorry, Quat,” he murmured in an undertone. “I never thought she’d—. I thought she was a friend.” He glanced fleetingly at me, and I recalled our conversation about how he’d needed someone to talk to besides Chang and me. “You can’t afford to think someone’s a friend anymore, Duo. You have to know,” Winner scolded gently. Duo gave a wry snort. “How can I know, Quat? I mean, I’m sure of Trowa—but besides him—?” “You can be sure of me,” Quatre said firmly. “You’re my lawyer—not a—.” Duo stopped short, fixing a troubled look on his public defender. “What about what you said—keeping things professional, hm?” The blonde shrugged. “That’s hard to do where you’re concerned, Duo.” An impish grin touched his lips. “Sue me.” Duo finally chuckled, some of the tension easing from the lean shoulders. He rubbed a hand restlessly over his tattoo. And then Barton stepped up to him, catching him by both arms, and making him look up. “Doesn’t matter that you made one silly mistake, Shini. It’ll be okay from now on,” he said in a soothing voice that sent little shivers up my spine. I could only imagine its effect on Duo, as he more or less melted into a reassuring embrace. “Thanks,” he breathed softly. Winner and Barton exchanged a look over the chestnut head, and the lawyer gave a small, warm smile. “Hey—you know we brought pizza, right?” The braided head shot up, and Duo’s face once again lit with the smile I’d started to miss. “Seriously? Pizza?” “With extra pepperoni,” Barton added, loosening his grip and sliding a hand down to catch Duo’s wrist. “C’mon to the kitchen.” Winner stayed behind with Chang and me until the others were out of earshot. “He seems to be holding up okay,” the lawyer commented frankly. “He has his ups and downs,” I shrugged in response. “Understandable, considering the pressure he’s under,” Quatre suggested. “You mean considering how many people want him dead?” Wufei asked snidely. “I’d think that would make him more cooperative rather than less.” Winner glared at my partner, those aquamarine eyes glittering. “He might be more cooperative if you didn’t bait him.” Wufei shot me a suspicious look. “What did you tell Winner?” “He didn’t have to,” Winner cut in, saving me from explaining that I’d told Captain Po, and therefore him, pretty much everything about the friction between Duo and Wufei, except for the latest spats. I’d conveniently left out mention of my own—issues—with the braided man. “I know enough about you, Chang, to surmise that your superior attitude hasn’t set well with my client.” Oh, Captain Po had been talking out of school, hadn’t she? “It shouldn’t offend him when someone calls him exactly what he is,” sniffed Wufei, backsliding into his defensive mode at once. “And that is—?” came the loaded question. Shut up, ‘Fei…shut up, shut up, shut up! “Street trash,” came the cool reply, bringing to mind the comments that made Maxwell take off the first time, at that rest stop near the highway. “Really?” crooned Winner dangerously. I marveled that Chang didn’t seem to realize how much shit he was about to step into. And so soon after he’d just dug his way out of it with Maxwell. “Well just look at him…a stripper…a gay stripper…who grew up on the streets, ran with a gang, slept with a fucking crime lord, and has been arrested at least a dozen times on breaking and entering, possession of stolen goods…shall I go on?” “Please do.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. But Chang was on a roll and in full rant mode. And while he’d more or less made peace with Maxwell, he clearly hadn’t changed many of his opinions of the braided man, especially after seeing him necking with Barton up in the hallway. It seemed that while he’d watch his tongue in front of Maxwell, he didn’t mind turning it loose on a lawyer. “He’s obviously got few, if any redeeming qualities—and witness protection or not, I fully expect him to return to the streets when this is over,” continued my oblivious partner. “He’s worthless, Winner. Right now the only value he has is as a witness against Khushrenada. After the trial’s finished, he’ll probably stoop to whoring next. God knows he’s been making blatant sexual moves on Yuy this whole trip…” “Shut up!” Oh, fuck…I said that out loud. Two sets of eyes turned my way—one surprised, and one a bit speculative. I focused on glaring at Chang. “You’re not being fair to him,” I said flatly, keeping my tone neutral, even if my words weren’t. “He can’t help what he’s been, Chang. That’s a done deal. But maybe he’ll see that in witness protection, he’ll have a chance to start over and do better.” Onyx eyes blinked slowly, and my partner’s jaw went a little slack. “Since when did you become a raving optimist?” “I guess the same time you turned into a fucking liar!” I snarled back. “You told him he was a better person than he pretended to be! I thought that meant you saw the potential in him. Or were you just bullshitting him so he’d forget you called him a fucking child molester?” A guilty flush crept up my partner’s cheeks, and he glanced at Winner, whose eyes were like chips of ice. “I made a bad joke, Winner. I didn’t actually accuse him of such a thing!” he blurted hastily. “I had no idea anything like that had happened to him…” “Jesus Chang, just shut up!” I snapped. Winner’s face had paled a little in sudden realization. “When—?” he asked in horror. “Years ago,” I said hastily, wanting to close the door on the touchy subject. “And he won’t thank us for talking about it behind his back!” The door to the kitchen slammed open, and Duo came out balancing a plate loaded with pizza slices and a beer. “’S gettin’ cold, fellas,” he said pertly, striding past us and heading for the television. “Tro’ brought movies. Who’s up for a good action flick?” With a muttered curse, Chang headed for the kitchen. Winner paused to fix a calculating look on me. “He grows on you, doesn’t he?” “Who—Chang?” The lawyer shook his head pityingly at my lame attempt to avoid the question. “Duo.” “Oh.” My gaze was drawn to the retreating back and the swinging braid. “I guess.” The lawyer chuckled, putting a companionable arm around my shoulders and steering me towards the kitchen. “Let’s get some pizza before Duo finishes and is ready for seconds. I think Trowa brought movies with lots of shooting and explosions.” “Is that really what Du—Maxwell needs right now?” I asked with a frown. “According to Trowa, it is…‘pizza, beer, a good action movie…’” Quatre paused, blushing slightly. “‘And a good lay.’” I choked on my own spit, and Quatre helpfully pounded
on my back until I caught my breath.
tbc... |
