Impossible
A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction
Rambled Off by The Manwell
Book Two: PREVENTERS
A.C. 200
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
I think of the weirdest shit sometimes. For example, here I am, standing in the Preventers HQ break room with a pot of coffee in my hand and my favorite mug in the other and I’m wondering how exactly this beverage is made. I mean, I know you run hot water over ground-up, roasted coffee beans and all that but... how exactly does hot water and bean bits turn into this powerful legal stimulant I’m holding aloft in my hand? I can run water over sand or cracker crumbs or feta cheese and not get nearly as satisfying a result. But then I think of this morning’s Lucky Charms flavored milk.
Hm. Obviously this taste transference isn’t an isolated incident.
“What are you doing, Maxwell?”
I blink and, looking to my left, find myself greeted by Wufei’s amused expression. “Contemplating the chemical and physical aspects of the phenomenon known as taste transference,” I quip. There’s nothin’ like the truth to really freak someone out.
Wufei bravely plucks the pot from my hand.
“Hey!” I protest. I’m not finished with my thought experiment yet.
“You can finish your contemplation after I’ve gotten my share,” he tells me with amusement. Wufei is far too amused at eight o’ clock in the morning.
I grumble, “I’m gonna need a chain of custody voucher for that, Wu.”
“I’m drinking evidence?” he inquires casually, taking a sip.
“Hm,” I agree. “You never know what they hide in this stuff. I mean, it’s almost black anyway so you’d never know it if someone –”
Wufei abruptly raises a hand and warns me, “Do not ruin this for me, Maxwell, or you will regret it.”
I smirk. I’ve heard that particular threat almost as often as I’ve heard Heero swear to kill someone. After working with both of them for a good two years now, I’ve been desensitized.
“Speaking of,” I reply wickedly, “I brought some Jell-O in my lunch today...” I don’t get any further. Wufei scowls, turns, and marches off to his office. I lean back against the counter and chuckle. It’s been over four months since Wufei asked me what the stuff was made of. That had been priceless. After my factual explanation, he’d paused, eyes wide with a spoonful of green Jell-O quivering on his fork halfway to his mouth. I’ll never forget the look of revulsion on his face as he’d deliberately abandoned his dessert. I shake my head and promise to get some homemade head cheese at the Scandinavian market next weekend for my lunch. Wufei has no idea that there are so many foodstuffs out there that are far worse than lime Jell-O.
“What is it?”
This time
the intruder is Heero. He’s probably one
of the few agents here who would dare to ask me what’s on my mind when I’m
grinning evilly to myself at
Heero smirks as he pours himself his usual half-serving of coffee. “No sense of adventure,” he replies drolly.
I continue grinning in silent agreement. Spotting the empty mug in my grasp, Heero holds up the coffee pot in silent question. With a shrug, I hold out my cup and he fills it for me to the imaginary two-thirds mark. Then, replacing the pot, he opens the fridge, plucks the Half & Half from the shelf and sloshes exactly one and a half ounces into my mug. I arc a brow at him. He’d managed to fix my coffee for me precisely the way I drink it. Hm. I suppose there’s an advantage to working with people who investigate stuff for a living.
In fact, lately, Heero’s been making all these odd, little gestures like this one. I can’t quite figure it out.
I take a sip of my flesh-tone beverage. It’s perfect. Of course.
Heero absently runs the dish rag around the counter before chucking it back in the basin. “Une wants to see us,” he reminds me.
I snort. As if I’d forgotten. “If you’re ready, then lead the way, dude.”
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
“Agent Yuy
will be our man inside on this.”
“What?!”
I glance in Duo’s direction and find myself highly amused by his consternated expression.
He protests, “But I’m way better at infiltration than he is, you know!”
That phrase... that tone of voice... I flash back in time and I’m once again in OZ custody with Duo and Wufei. I recall being recruited to help bring down a new type of Gundam that, by process of elimination, I’d known must have been piloted by Quatre. From the grungy shadows of our cell, Duo had protested that I be the one to accompany Trowa. In fact, he’d used nearly the exact same objection then: “I’m a better pilot than he is, you know!” It had confused me a little, listening to his adamant declaration. He’d been in no condition to pilot anything, so why had he said it? Over the years, that moment has stuck with me doggedly. One of these days, if I think he might actually tell me the whole truth, I’ll ask him. But for now I sigh and roll my eyes at him.
Une neither confirms nor denies his statement. “Technically, you’re up on the rotation, Agent Maxwell,” she replies, cutting – I think – to the heart of the issue. Duo hates desk duty almost as much as he hates letting me have all the “fun,” as he puts it. “However, the nature of the organization you’ll be investigating is such that it would be prudent for us to adjust things this time.”
Duo crosses his arms over his chest and looks rather grumpy. “Oh, yeah? What’s so special about Heero?”
I glare at him. He can be so immature when his ego’s involved.
Une ignores his sullen undertone and informs us, “Agent Yuy has a biological advantage.”
That surprises me. And Duo as well if I read the lessening of tension in his shoulders correctly.
She holds up a pair of data disks. “This organization is one of the companies that have taken over re-building the facilities on the moon. It’s a pharmaceutical plant and Agent Yuy’s enhanced resistance to most drugs could come in very handy.”
“You expect me to get caught,” I say flatly.
Her mouth tightens slightly. “It is a distinct possibility. Especially with the people you’ll be dealing with. Of course we’ll do everything we can to provide you with an air-tight cover and background but I also have to take into consideration several reports of new hires being subjected to various drugs during their orientation for the purpose of ensuring their cooperation.”
“Brainwashing,” Duo summarizes, glancing at me. I can’t completely read the look in his eyes. Is it concern? If so, is it for me or himself as he’d almost been the operative on this one?
“It’s only an allegation at this point,” Une reminds us but we all know better than to ignore something with such potentially serious consequences, “but we need to pursue this as soon as possible.” She offers the disks to us and I step forward to accept them. Silently, I pass one of them on to Duo. “After you’ve become familiar with the case, I’d like to see both of you to discuss logistics.”
Duo and I nod almost in unison.
“That’s all, agents.”
Notes
:: Heero’s recollection of his time in OZ custody and Duo’s claim that he’s a better pilot than Heero is from episode 24.
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
I’m liking this assignment less and less. In the privacy of my office, I scour through the information on the data disk provided by Une and with every passing paragraph, I become more and more convinced that it really should be me going in. I mean, pulling this off is going to take more than your average level of acting ability and I know that’s my strong point. Hell, if it weren’t for the possibility of that whole brainwashing crap I would be the best choice for this one. Sure, I’ve been trained to resist that kind of thing, but Heero is leaps and bounds ahead of me there, having spent a good four years more in training than I had. Still, Heero’s not what I would call a “natural-born” actor. He prefers to go unseen, either by way of stealth or by redirecting attention away from himself... C4-style. And this mission will require him to blend in with the crowd. He’ll be damn lucky if he can manage to play their game without arousing suspicions. Very damn lucky.
I frown at the computer screen, a sour taste in my mouth. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. I jab at the arrow keys, scrolling down further. It should be me going in. I want it to be me going in. I fucking hate staying behind the scenes. I hate the waiting. The wondering. The lack of immediate control over the situation. And, of course, blowing shit up is a lovely bonus you don’t see around the office very often.
At my elbow, the phone rings. I mark my place with my cursor and check the caller ID. Heh. Figures.
“What is it now, Yuy?” I drawl.
He snorts at me. “I ordered us lunch from Antonia’s. It’s just arrived.”
Oh, shit. At the very mention of that little mom-and-pop Italian take-out place, I begin to salivate. And he freaking knows it, too. Asshole.
“Meet me in my office?” he invites but it might as well be an order because I’m not capable of refusing, regardless.
“Give me five minutes,” I reply and hang up.
I power down the pc screen and lock my hard drive before I’ve returned the phone to its cradle. Still, I don’t leap up and race out the door. I sit there and gaze at the phone with narrowed eyes. What had prompted that little offer, I wonder? Is he trying to apologize for stealing my spot on the undercover ops list? But why would he? It’s not like he had any control over Une’s decision.
I sigh and,
shaking my head, stand. I can’t figure
the guy out. I give up. As long as he follows through on his promise
of Antonia’s take-out, I don’t give a damn about his motivations. Following my nose, I let myself into Heero’s
office well before my five minutes has expired.
I take a seat on the edge of his immaculate desk and accept the white
Styrofoam box and plastic utensils. I
pop the lid off and grin down at my order.
I stare at the carton in my hand for a moment before I glare at Heero. He neatly cuts his sausage, mushroom, and mozzarella ravioli into quarters and ignores me.
“Dude,” I say, wary of this generosity. “Do you, like, need a favor or something?”
Mouth open and fork an instant from depositing his fist bite on his tongue, he pauses. “What... like watering my plants?”
“You have a cactus,” I remind him. I know this because I’d given him one for a
gag gift last Christmas. “But yeah,
something like that.”
He lifts a brow at me. “You will be responsible for my backup during this next mission, won’t you?”
“Uhm... that’s usually part of desk duty, yes,” I reply, thinking I know where this is going. “You think you have to ply me with Antonia’s so I won’t leave you there?”
“Hm,” he says. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
I shrug. “Yeah, good point.” I dig into my stromboli and think about Heero’s words. So he’s aware of this assignment’s risks and he’s concerned enough to mention it even if he hadn’t been totally serious. That, more than Heero’s uncanny ability to provide me with a selection of nothing less than my favorite foods, worries me.
“Look, man,” I tell him, “just don’t go vigilante on me and I’ll get you home.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” he counters, lips smirking and a single brow arced.
I poke my fork in his direction. “Get that evil grin off of your face, Yuy. I’m the only one allowed to use that look around here.”
“No wonder
you signed on.”
“That’s right,” I confirm. I turn back to my lunch but don’t actually manage to take a bite without getting something else off of my chest first. “Just be careful, Yuy,” I grouch. “You know how much I hate it when you go all suicidally heroic and steal all the glory.”
He grins back at me, his expression taunting. “Then do your job here so I won’t have a reason to.”
I glare at him. What a jerk. “In honor of your imminent departure and subsequent banishment from the realm of Antonia’s, I’ll let you have the last word on that.”
“How generous of you,” he deadpans.
I think so, too.
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
Mammillaria albicans
Minimum average temperature: 50° F
Sun Exposure: Light shade
Origin:
Growth Habits: Clustering
cylindrical cactus, up to 8 inches tall, 2.4 inches in diameter, 4 to 8 central
spines, with sometimes one hooked, 14-21 radials
Watering Needs: Water sparingly,
needs good drainage
Flowering Habits: White to pale pink flowers
I don’t have to look at the small card that had come with my Christmas present from Duo. I’d memorized it completely the day he’d given the tiny plant to me. He’d intended for it to be a joke although I’m still not sure exactly what that joke is. I sit down on the arm of the couch and just watch the cactus grow in achingly slow motion.
It’s only about three inches tall now and it hasn’t quite begun to crowd the miniature clay pot. After a bit more extensive research, I’d learned that I’d probably have to wait six months to notice any appreciable growth. But that’s all right. Even as small as it is, it’s already promising flowers.
There are five tiny buds perched not on the top of the cactus as one might expect but along the slightly bulging barrel. All of them are clamped tightly shut as if trying to resist the persistent rays of the sun in order to roll over and go back to sleep.
I had been looking forward to watching these tiny blossoms open. From further research, I had learned that it would happen within the upcoming week and that they would, most likely, unfurl very quickly. But unless they open up tonight, I probably won’t get to see them; I leave for the moon tomorrow.
And this afternoon, I’d almost asked Duo to stop by my apartment and check on the flowers. I’d almost asked him to bring a camera.
I catch myself evaluating the logistics needed to rig a camera to take a photograph every six hours and I have to smile, albeit a bit ruefully, at myself.
This cactus blooms every year in March: there will be other blossoms.
I sigh and stretch out an arm to reach the nearest lamp. The shadows had grown deeper as I’d been sitting here thinking about flowers. I tug the brassy chain and golden light erupts in my living room. Even though Duo and I have worked together on many assignments over the years, it had still taken us the entire afternoon to prepare for my departure. I have a morning flight and I haven’t even packed yet.
I allow myself another moment to study the way incandescent light bends around the cactus on my living room window sill. And I really wonder what Duo had thought was so funny about it.
Leaning away from the couch, I propel myself in the direction of my bedroom, intent on getting some of that much-needed packing started. But even as I pull out various shirts, ties, and slacks, I’m still wondering about the significance of that cactus.
Cacti are amazingly delicate creatures for all their prickly appearance. The majority of their weight is due to water retention which, in an environment that only receives precipitation a handful of times a year, is necessary for survival.
I pause.
I backtrack and reconsider those last thoughts. I consider the possibility that Duo had chosen the plant for me as some sort of metaphoric analogy. Although I don’t have spines, I’m aware that I’m usually perceived as being rather aloof. Perhaps even unapproachable. And like the water-tight skin of a cactus, it’s my tendency to refuse to allow my emotions to escape me. Or my memories. I hold them inside, guarding them like they’re treasure. And perhaps they are. The moments of friendship I’m given with Wufei and Duo are few and far between. Like desert rain.
And then that thought nudges me in yet another direction: Duo. When had been the last time he and I had been... well, for lack of a better word, friendly? When had been the last time we’d confided in each other? Offered encouragement? Reassurance?
I think back over the last two years we’d been employed by the Preventers... and I think back over the second battle we’d fought on New Year’s Eve... and I think even further back to the year of silence after the first war... hell, I even troll through my memories of the first war itself.
This isn’t the first time I’ve done this sort of historical examination. Every time I find myself thinking back on time and events I’d shared with Duo, I come to the same uncomfortable, inevitable conclusion: somehow we’d come through battle after battle without ever truly becoming friends. And there just seems to be something horribly wrong about that.
I sigh and
decide to stop thinking about it. I
never get anywhere with it, anyway. And
besides, I have an assignment to pack for.
Notes
:: Information about Heero’s cactus was gathered here:
http://www.desert-tropicals.com/Plants/Cactaceae/Mammillaria_albicans.html
:: And the bit about it being a March-flowering plant I found here:
http://www.cactus-mall.com/mammsoc/article4.htm
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
I love coming up with code names. It’s actually a talent of mine. I have this knack for picking a completely believable name. My success rate is due, mostly, to the fact that no one but a parent could have thought of that particular name with any fondness. And, of course, there’s no way in hell someone would actually choose that name for himself. And voila, the mark is completely oblivious to the fact that he or she is being investigated by a Preventer agent.
I’ve lost track of the number of times someone has come to me and asked for one of my brilliant code names. In the event of a request, I simply whip out my ever-growing list and select something that sounds believable for the person who will be answering to it. That’s the final touch that makes it all perfect, you know. But for Heero’s code names... well, that requires a certain... finesse that I don’t bother with for anyone else.
I start to chuckle at the thought of Heero answering to the code name I’d picked out for him... but the sound dies almost right away. I find myself staring at the clock on my desk and calculating his shuttle’s speed and location.
I still wish I’d been the one to go. But that sort of woe-is-me whining won’t get me anywhere. I know it, but I’m still sulking. On the inside, of course.
“Maxwell, stop pouting.”
I glance up and over my shoulder at Wufei. He leans quite insolently in the doorway of my office, smirking. My expression takes an evil turn. “Please, please tell me you’re here for a code name.”
Both his dark brows lift in barely-suppressed amusement. “Not for all the money in the world would I ask you for a code name after I’d just accused you of pouting.”
“Heh. I guess you are kinda smart’n’stuff, aren’tcha?”
“Yes,” he replies haughtily. “I suppose I am.”
I snort. “Pompous ass.”
He pauses a moment. I suppose he’s waiting to see if I’ve managed to vent all my hostility in those three syllables. “Yuy en route?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Got his shuttle on the GPS tracker. Wanna watch the little green light blink with me for a while?”
Wufei looks borderline worried. “Don’t you have other things you could be doing?”
I roll my
eyes. “Yeah. I was thinking I should probably start
getting the logistics together for my scheduled mosey on down to the copy machine.”
Oh, yeah. Desk duty is just a whirlwind of activity. Oooh, baby.
Wufei stares at me for a moment. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but when it comes to operation support duty, if you weren’t so amusing, you’d be intolerable.”
“Thanks for the pick-me-up,” I mutter dryly. “Rah-rah-rass.”
Wufei looks even more worried. “What?” he asks with audible reluctance.
I sigh. “You know the old pep rally cheer?”
He gives me a blank look.
Dutifully, I recite, “Rah-rah-ree, kick ‘em in the knee! Rah-rah-rass, kick ‘em in the –”
“Maxwell!”
I grin maliciously and continue over Wufei’s urgent whisper, “... other knee.”
Wufei sighs. “Ancestors save us,” I think I hear him mutter. He musters up a weak glare. “Is this what you do when you’re on the Network all day? Dig up archaic – not to mention asinine – examples of pseudo-music.”
I laugh: pseudo-music. How true. “So... if you’re not here to get a code name and you don’t want to listen to my collection of, er, pseudo-music, then why are you here?”
He stares at me for another moment. “Collection?” he manages. “You mean you know more of those hideous... things?”
“Well...” I drawl, “the word collection does tend to imply plurality, yes.”
“You... collect some very strange things,” he replies.
I can’t say I disagree. “So...” I begin again. “You. Here. Why?”
Wufei takes a moment to study me. And I do mean study me. By the time he’s finished memorizing my face, I’m starting to get a little weirded-out.
“Actually...” Wufei tells me with slow deliberation, “I came by to see if you’re all right.”
“Er... huh?”
He elaborates, “With Heero being gone.”
I snort. “Bloody hell, man. It’s not like we’re joined at the hip! I’m just pissy ‘cause he got to take this one. You know me.”
Another quiet moment passes before Wufei agrees, “Yes, I do know you.”
And with
that cryptic remark, he wanders away again.
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
Before I’d stepped through the front doors of the research facility, the game had already begun. In my mind, I struggle to keep up the mental image of Duo in full charisma mode. I have to hide in the open here which means doing things Duo’s way. I’ve never really tried this before and I’m nervous, but there’s no room for errors and that uncompromising standard steadies me.
I stride up
to the receptionist’s desk and announce myself.
“Rupert Takahashi,” I say with a small, friendly smile. Behind the greeting, I’m silently damning
Duo. Again. The son of a bitch is probably leaning
against the counter in the HQ break room right this minute, smirking his ass
off and telling anyone who will listen that he’d managed to find a code name
even more hideous that the last one he’d given me. It must have been quite the challenge to best
Linus Levine. I
continue smoothly, “I have an appointment with Dr. Adamsson
at
The young man opposite me returns my pleasant greeting and asks me to wait for a moment. After a brief exchange over the phone, he tells me, “It’ll only be a minute or so, Mr. Takahashi. Dr. Adamsson’s assistant is on his way.”
“Thank you,” I remember to say. I even attempt to pitch my voice the way Duo does. Yet even after working with him for the past two years, it’s hard to do.
I can freely admit that there is no one else in the world who can act like Duo unless it’s... well, Duo himself. For a long time, I’d been amazed at the fact that Duo is capable of such enviable stealthwork. I’ve never quite been able to work out how someone like Duo can go unnoticed whenever he wants to. But then, I’d reconciled myself – a long time ago – to the fact that I will always notice him, regardless of time and place. Still, it baffles me how the attentions of other people are not immediately drawn to him unless he wishes it to be so.
I sigh. I tell myself to stop wasting time with this old debate. I haven’t understood this since I noticed it during the war and it’s highly unlikely that I’ll figure it out now.
Time to get on with the show.
I glance at the receptionist and wonder if I should try to make small talk but he looks busy so I force myself to fiddle with my suit jacket, run my fingers along my tie, glance at the arrangement of spacescape paintings along the wall. Idly, I wonder how Duo does it: maintain that level of average-Joe-ease he’s so very good at. I shove my free hand in my pocket and jingle the hotel key around. I realize I’m running out of things to do while I wait and I begin to get a little worried. I have to blend in. I must blend in. Standing at attention, deathly still, eyes roaming the lobby with the intent to map every exit will certainly get me noticed. I have to act like a personable, run-of-the-mill kind of guy. I readjust my wrist watch. Damn, this is hard.
“Mr. Takahashi?”
I turn and offer a grateful welcome to the young man stepping past the sliding glass doors. He holds out his hand and I grasp it, telling myself I can do this, reminding myself that my character has done things like this every day of his professional life.
The assistant introduces himself to me and continues apologetically as he steers me deeper into the research facility, “Dr. Adamsson sends his apologies for being unable to greet you himself. Several case tests coming up for review got moved up ahead of schedule, so you’re stuck with me for the time being.”
I chuckle, like I’m supposed to. “You mean, I’ll be stuck with whatever equipment you need recalibrated for your operations here on the moon,” I correct.
The assistant grins and nods. “We’ve certainly got enough to keep you busy for a while.”
“That’s
good,” I reply gamely. Out of nowhere,
something I’d once heard Duo say comes to me and I grasp onto it with relief,
“It’ll keep me out of trouble.”
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
“Ahh...” I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, fold my hands over my pleasantly full stomach, and murmur to my host, “You know, if I thought you wouldn’t kill me on sight, I’d ask you to marry me.”
Wufei snorts and I hear the creak of his chair as he leans back against it as well. “You say that every time I cook, Maxwell,” he observes dryly. “I’m used to it by now.”
I crack open my eyes and attempt to look wounded. “Alas, I have reached the bottom of the pit of pathetic; I’ve become predictable...” A wicked grin tugs my lips upward at the corners. “How to change that, I wonder...”
Wufei sighs and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he intones flatly.
“Yeah,” I agree with a mellow sigh. “You really shouldn’t have. Especially since Heero’s not here to help you distract me from formulating my evil plans.”
There’s a long pause following that remark. And while long pauses during a conversation with Wufei are not uncommon, this particular one is. I take a moment to study him a little harder, noting the uncertainty in his body language that makes him tense.
“What is it?” I ask him. My eyes widen and my pulse skips as something occurs to me. “Did you find out something about that company Heero’s infiltrating or –”
“Calm down, Duo,” Wufei says quietly, rising from the table and carrying his dishes to the counter. “You know I’d tell you the moment I found something.” He turns and scowls at me thoughtfully. “It’s only been three days. What’s got you so wound up about it, anyway?”
I shrug. “Nothin’ really,” I hedge. “I’m always edgy right before the first check-in.” Which is true. Mostly. I try to ignore the fact that I’ve been counting down to Heero’s first scheduled communication since we parted ways after work the night before the mission. His message tomorrow should put me out of my misery.
Still, Wufei doesn’t buy my lame half-truth. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.
I sigh. “I was up on rotation for this one but Une decided to go with Heero. I just...” My jaw clenches down for a moment. “I just hate being the one that’s left behind,” I grumble. “The guy in the field has all the options, all the control... And I just hate sitting on my ass, waiting. And I can’t even hope for some action because that would mean that Heero’s in danger and I have to back him up.” I link my fingers behind my head and close my eyes. “Desk duty sucks, no doubt about it,” I conclude, “because as badly as I want to be out there, that would mean wishing something would go wrong and that just feels like... like I’m...”
“Betraying your partner?” Wufei supplies when I flounder.
I kind of twitch a little and give him a speculative look. I suddenly realize that I’ve never really thought of Heero as “my” partner. Just another agent I work with a lot. Huh. “Yeah,” I admit, albeit reluctantly.
“You’re not the only one,” he tells me.
It’s not really a comfort, but it does broaden my perspective a little bit on the subject. “So that’s why you threatened me with bodily injury if I didn’t come over tonight.”
Wufei shrugs. “Sometimes distractions are necessary,” he replies, quoting Heero.
I can recall when he’d said that, too: not so long after I’d joined up with the Preventers. I’d been defending my seemingly frivolous hobby of tinkering with gizmos and gadgets to Wufei when Heero had thrown in his two cents. I don’t think I’d ever heard him defend one of my personality quirks before. Still, despite Heero’s support, Wufei hadn’t been won over:
“But... For the love of the ancestors, who the hell needs a talking toaster??”
I almost grin at the memory. I love Wufei to death, but the guy just has no sense of adventure.
And that last thought reminds me of sipping coffee with Heero in the break room earlier this week. I sigh.
“You’re worried about him,” Wufei tells me suddenly.
I resume glaring at him. Taking a breath, I open my mouth to retort but Wufei cuts me off with something equally abrupt.
“What the hell happened between you two?”
Thoroughly confused, I manage a highly intelligent “Huh?”
Wufei settles back in his chair at the table and regards me calmly. “Back during the war, I noticed the way you and Heero dealt with each other. Just from watching, I would have thought you to be friends. But every time you spoke to one another... you sounded like rivals.” Wufei’s lips curve into a sad sort of smile. “Not much has changed since then, even though you’ve been partnered with each other nine times out of ten over the last two years.”
I absorb
this in silence, a little startled that Wufei’s even broaching the topic. I mean, what does he care? After all, Heero and I do get along even if we aren’t best buddies or anything...
“I consider both of you my friends,” Wufei continues, somehow reading my mind. “And I know you consider me a friend, but I don’t understand why you haven’t extended the same courtesy to Heero.”
“Why the hell are you bringing it up, anyway?” I hear myself snark.
“Duo...” Wufei replies slowly. He’s using that tone of voice that tells me my churlishness is flowing off of him. He’s using that expression that indicates he’s baring his soul to me. God damn him. I can’t be an asshole now.
And he’s still waiting for the truth. Reluctantly, I cooperate.
“I can’t,” I finally reply, eyes narrowing and arms crossing over my chest.
Wufei
frowns, not understanding. In all
honesty, I don’t really understand it, either.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Duo Maxwell say he can’t do something.”
He has a point. And I do wonder why I can’t open myself up to Heero but no logical reason is forthcoming. There’s only a dark, black, thick space in my mind that separates me from someone who might have been my friend, once upon a time.
I can’t think about this right now. All I can do is shake my head and offer the only excuse I have: “I can’t.”
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
I’m running out of time here. Soon, all of the equipment will be up to safety inspection standards and my excuse to remain here will be exhausted. And I have yet to find any evidence of illegal activity: it appears the rumors of the employees being brainwashed are just that. Therefore, I have two choices: one, to return with absolutely nothing either confirming or denying our suspicions, or two, to get a little more creative in my interpretation of the law.
Not much of a choice, really. I grin. Duo’s going to be pissed as hell that I got to have all the fun this time around.
I pull out my laptop and open a programming window. I don’t bother to keep an eye on the clock as I compose the virus I’ll need in order to both disable the main power and plant an open gate directly to Duo’s computer in his apartment. I’ll have an opportunity to upload the virus tomorrow, I’m sure. Then, once the system crashes, a manual reboot will allow for Duo to ghost around through the encrypted and password protected files.
What I’m about to do is very much against Preventer policies, but only Duo will know who has allowed him access into the system. No one will be able to prove it had been me rather than some anonymous employee. But, then again, at the moment I am an anonymous employee.
How ironic.
I smirk to myself as my fingertips type out the necessary commands. But I also have to keep in mind that I need to camouflage the virus’s true intent. The system shut down must seem like a side effect of the virus, rather than its main goal. So, all right... what sort of obnoxious mayhem would a twelve-year-old hacker like to cause on this former OZ base?
Several ideas immediately come to me and that fact alone I find highly amusing. Most people wouldn’t consider me particularly creative. Except Duo, perhaps. I think he’s picked up on my recently expanding appreciation for the weird and deranged. In fact, some of these virus intents I’ve thought up I’d like to share with him. They’d be good for quite a few laughs, if Duo and I had the kind of relationship where we laughed with each other.
And suddenly my mood tumbles from mild amusement into acute frustration.
Why aren’t Duo and I friends? We’ve seen each other almost every day of the work week for the past two years. We’ve handled some dangerous and delicate assignments together in perfect unison. Hell, I’ve even started pouring his fucking coffee for him in the mornings. And isn’t it sad that I’ve made that little extra effort to be sure I make it in to work early enough to have a shot at doing that one little thing for him. Everyone at HQ thinks we’re friends. Some have even been deluded into believing we’re best friends. But not Wufei.
Oh, no. Wufei knows. I can tell from his subtle sidelong glances in first my direction then Duo’s when all three of us are in the same room. I don’t know how he’d sensed the distance between us Duo continually affirms when everyone else is oblivious.
That’s not to say we don’t laugh and joke and talk. But it’s all surface. No deep, soul-binding camaraderie here.
But, God, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to...
I freeze.
In stunned silence, I blink at my interrupted programming and stare at the imaginary door I’d just slammed on that last thought. I’m not sure what to think of that oh-so-easily contemplated wish. I’d like to forget about it entirely, but I find myself inching open that door again to have a second look.
I suppose I’d been aware of this fact – at least subconsciously – for a very long time. But it’s not until this moment, as I sit in front of my laptop in a shadowed and anonymous efficiency apartment, that it really hits me.
I would do anything to be Duo’s friend.
Several disjointed bits of information skip through my mind: my habit of ordering his lunch for him and surprising him with take-out when I know he hasn’t bothered to pack anything; my habit of taking the moment to notice whether he’d brought his lunch or not; my habit of fixing his coffee without having to be asked; my tendency to arrive at work in time to have the chance to pour him that first two-thirds cup; my persistent re-examination of every moment, every smile, every gift he’s ever given me in search of hidden meaning...
Dozens of bits of memories and clues all crash together in my head and I begin to realize why I’ve bothered learning how he takes his coffee and making sure I request an extra cup of marinara sauce for him from Antionia’s...
Christ, I’m an idiot.
It all comes down to the simple, pathetic truth:
I’ve chosen him to be my best friend. And I want him to fucking wake up and be mine, too.
I can remember a time when I would have rather self-destructed with Wing all over again than admit that to myself. Hm. I suppose people really do change.
The thought gives me hope and the hope makes me angry with myself for even considering it, but I can’t not wonder if someday I’ll ever manage to traverse the distance that’s between us.
I simply don’t know how to deal with someone as complex and stubborn as Duo Maxwell. Reluctantly, I admit that I’ll need help and resolve to speak with Wufei and Quatre. Perhaps Relena as well. I nod in satisfaction at my decision. It is, after all, my only other logical option aside from a direct confrontation with Duo over the matter, which I’m fairly certain would end badly.
With that temporarily settled, I turn my attention back to the havoc and mayhem I’m about to instigate.
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
I’m going to kill him.
I swear to God, if I manage to find him still in one piece, I’ll kill him myself.
Five days. No email. No phone call. Nothing. For his sake, he’d better be captured. Or incapacitated. Or... something.
I heft the carton I’d been appointed with a bit more gusto than necessary. Although the guy next to me gives me a funny look, I’m rather proud of my self-restraint thus far. Not that I think for one instant that either Une or Wufei is going to congratulate me for this.
I suppose I could blame Wufei. I mean, if he hadn’t dragged my turbulent emotional state out for my wide-eyed perusal that night after dinner at his place then I might still be fidgeting in my squeaky office chair back at HQ. But he had and I’m obviously not.
Perhaps if I’d managed to sleep after that neat, little trip of introspection, I might not be where I am right now. Maybe. The next day at work had been hell, in any case. I’d had loads of shit to do but like I gave a damn about it while I was waiting for my asshole partner’s email. The morning had come and gone. As had lunch. And dinner. And the janitorial staff. That had been the defining moment; that had been when I’d asked myself a very specific question: So, what are you gonna do about it?
Notice I hadn’t asked myself what Une would want me to do, or what Wufei would want me to do, or even what I wanted to do. Perhaps I wouldn’t be risking a highly satisfactory and very pensionable job over something that could turn out to be a false alarm. Or worse. I’m very aware that I could blow Heero’s cover and fuck not only him and myself over, but the Preventers in general.
I’d already tried to make myself care during the twelve hour shuttle ride here. And I’d failed miserably. I’ll care if I fuck up, I’m sure. But that hasn’t happened yet and it’s not a policy of mine to concern myself with nebulous probabilities.
In retrospect, it had been scarily easy to convince a harried space freighter captain to give me berth to the moon. Especially after I’d done my “I’m-just-a-harmless-dumb-idiot-trying-to-get-back-home act.” I don’t think Heero’s seen that one.
And he
won’t get the chance to, either, once I get my hands on him.
Despite the visions of excruciatingly prolonged death frolicking through my mind, I manage to smile at the docking inspector. “Yo, man, where do you want this?”
The bastard doesn’t even look up from his fancy digital clipboard. “Cool,” I tell him, following his disinterested nod. As I carry my burden of something-or-other marked Fragile, I take note of a service door near the corner I’m headed for. Perfect.
Fifteen seconds after the carton in my hands touches the cold, worn flooring, I’m ghosting through a labyrinth of halls that look altogether too familiar for my peace of mind. It appears the new tenants haven’t redecorated yet. I take in the specific shade of washed-out, moon-powder-dusted neosteel and marvel at how some things really don’t change. Once more I’m voluntarily venturing into this beast and on the heels of the same guy I’d come to “rescue” on my previous visit. Not that I’d ever told him that. Not that he would have cared either way. Not that he’s going to appreciate the gesture this time around, either.
But then, it doesn’t really matter what he wants. Because once this Stealth Show gets underway, there’s no stopping it. So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, may I present the amazing Disappearing Duo Act. Please hold your applause until the end... No, no, wait for it... wait for it...
I draw in a deep breath and imagine myself blending into the walls like a semi-solid puddle of liquid steel. Everything that I am becomes cold, grey, and still. I smirk briefly in shadows. And I can’t help but be amused by the words that echo through the dimming stage that is my headspace: “Now you see him... and now you don’t.”
Notes
:: In the series, Duo infiltrates the Lunar Base in order to destroy it, or so he tells Hilde in episode 24.
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
Finally.
I listen to the sound of the solar bay doors hissing closed behind Adamsson’s chief assistant, the man who has been my tour guide/babysitter for the last five days and then some. Finally, I am alone. And I’m alone with the data beast that runs this corporation.
As Duo would say, Whoo-yeah!
At last, the virus program I’d been carefully nurturing on my laptop’s hard drive will finally be allowed the fieldtrip I’d promised it a day and a half ago.
I almost snort at myself. Perhaps my concentrated effort to behave like Duo over the duration of this mission has had an effect on my psyche. An intriguing... if disturbing thought. For sure, it would amuse Duo.
Will, I correct myself. It will amuse Duo. Sometime over the last thirty-six hours, I’ve firmed my resolution to get through to that guy. And I’ll do whatever it takes. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop clashing wits with him. I mean, let’s face it: what’s friendship without intellectual challenge? But I’m going to start crowding his space until he finally lets me in. No longer am I going to convince myself I’m satisfied with his bullshit smile and snappy rejoinders. It’s all or nothing, now.
But first, the mission.
It takes me mere moments to accomplish the task I’d been assigned by the head doctor’s assistant. And then, under the pretext of running a diagnostic program, I hook up my laptop to the database. Finally, something I’d actually been trained to do. Something I don’t have to refer to my memories of Duo for. I know that as soon as I get back to Earth, I’m going to crash and burn. This assignment has been exhausting. Where Duo gets the energy to be who he is, I have not a clue.
While I’m waiting for the virus to be absorbed into the main computer, I surreptitiously take in my surroundings. In mere moments, I’ve nearly finished typing up an encoded text file detailing the variety of power sources here in the generator room. I can’t help but be little impressed by the field of solar mirrors pointed toward the domed ceiling. And I’m annoyed to realize that I can’t remember if these are the same mirrors that had been here back when Oz had appropriated the facility or if the Earth Sphere had installed them recently in an attempt to entice companies to move their operations into outer space.
Having finished my notes, I once again check the email account I’d used to contact Duo. There’s still no reply to my check-in. I frown and wonder what the hell is going on. I’d already turned my mobile connection inside-out looking for a blockage. I give the mental equivalent of a shrug. I’ll sit down this evening and try to figure out the problem. It’s obviously something that needs several hours’ worth of my undivided attention. Perhaps, having been distracted by the completion and release of my virus, I’d missed something when I’d last checked it. Unlikely, but possible.
The progress window on my screen alerts me to the completed upload.
So, that’s it. The next time the main computer connects with the satellites necessary for this compound’s communications, the virus will begin to unfurl. A diagnostic check will send it into full maturity. There is nothing more I can do at this moment. Either it will be successful or it won’t. As I pack up my equipment, I also briefly consider the possibility that I’ll be asked to stay on longer here to help sort out the problem and while that might end up being good for the mission, I’d really rather go home. But whatever, as Duo would say.
I feel my expression softening as I think of him. I’m a little anxious to start my new campaign to win his friendship. I almost shake my head at myself. Damn but it took me long enough to change my tactics–
My expression is pulled once more into a frown as I wait for the doors to open at my command but there’s no response. I tap in the code once more and wait. But still the electronic locks remain engaged.
What the hell? The virus couldn’t have taken effect yet. In fact, I hadn’t even attacked the locking systems with it.
I jab at the keypad yet again.
There is still no response.
A short? A code change? The possibilities are endless. I consider removing the maintenance panel and rewiring it. I could manage to do so in about thirty seconds, but it would certainly disabuse them of the notion that I’m a harmless traveling techie. Unless they’ve already figured me out, in which case, not getting out of here a.s.a.p. would be a big mistake.
My options are neatly listed and scrolled through in a handful of seconds but before I’ve decided on one, a rusty squeal from somewhere above and behind me intrudes. I glance over my shoulder to locate the source of the movement but for a several seconds, nothing is immediately apparent. It’s when my gaze lands on a pair of gears turning against each other that a ghost of the truth shivers through my body.
And then the temperature in the room starts to climb.
I glance up and I’m as close as I’ve ever been to breaking out in a cold sweat. For the tiniest moment, I stare as the first of the dome’s panels slides under its neighbor. I turn back to the lock and rip the panel off. I don’t even bother with the possibility that someone has forgotten about me being in here and has decided to charge the mirrors. It’s obvious to me that they know. I would be an idiot to hope otherwise.
Metal slides against metal and the first ray of unfiltered sunlight forces its way through the widening gap in the roof. At the access panel, I’ve just managed to yank out the wires but I feel as if I’m being boiled by light. And the first of nearly a dozen panels isn’t even open yet.
I try to work faster, but I can’t breathe. My eyes are watering from the glow beginning to surround me. I’m still calm – after training like mine what else would I be? – but I realize that I will probably not survive this. Not that that’s any reason to give up.
The first panel is open completely and I think I’ve started to cook. I can’t think, can’t see, can’t feel my hands. Hell, I can’t feel anything except the blistering heat. And then I imagine I’m falling into a soothing, cool darkness and a pair of strong arms. Death hums in my ear and I’m a little surprised that I recognize the voice.
“Duo...” I
think I say and then I’m gone.
. . .
~ Duo Maxwell ~
Okay, there are certain things that you expect to happen when the door control panel you’ve been “coaxing” into unlocking finally complies.
Sirens.
Alarms.
Frantic shouts.
Gunfire.
Trieze.
Oh, wait, wrong combat sim.
But what you don’t expect is to be engulfed by boiling, retina-searing, white light just as the feverishly hot body of the person you’re looking forward to killing in the imminent future falls limply against your solar plexus.
Let’s just say I’ve had better days.
I have to bite back the string of knee-jerk obscenities that rise to the occasion as my vision goes perfectly white then perfectly black. I’m too busy to bother with my impressive assortment of expletives at the moment what with dragging Heero’s body out of the path of that skin-peeling light while simultaneously groping rather forcefully at the aforementioned control panel. I’ll give those colorful words their due just as soon as the schedule permits.
And then, suddenly, miraculously, the door whispers closed and the temperature stabilizes. For a long moment, I stand in the dark, blinking my watering eyes and trying not to tell myself my lack of vision is the result of me having accidentally hit a light switch in my mad scramble to get that damn door shut.
I’m not really sure how long I stand there. It feels like for-fucking-ever but it can’t be more than a few minutes. And then, slowly, the shadows start coming back to me and everything turns cool and dim and grey again.
Except Heero, that is.
I grope for his pulse and the fact that I manage to wrap my hand around his neck without eliciting a reaction tells me he probably won’t be walking himself out of here. Aching from the adrenaline and the mother of all migraines, I let out an explosive breath when I do feel a pulse.
Fucking hell, I’m going to kill him when he comes around.
Of course, that means I’ve got to get both of us out of here in our respective entireties now.
Doesn’t ask for much, does he, this partner of mine?
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I kneel down under his weight and guide him over my shoulder. I stagger a bit as I straighten up.
Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.
I can already feel the flesh of my shoulder beginning to bruise under his bulk, but I’ll bitch him out about it later. For now I’ve got slightly more urgent things to worry about.
Obviously, I’d just interrupted an attempt on Heero’s life; it’s a foregone conclusion that he’s been made here. Now, depending on about three hundred and twelve factors, our exit from this Godforsaken facility could be scarily easy or fatal.
I know which one I prefer but I don’t usually get a choice in these things. And Heero’s not voicing an opinion at the moment, so...
I meet no one on the outbound trip. With every step, the knots of tension holding my joints together wind tighter and tighter. And thank God for that, otherwise I probably would have collapsed under Heero’s weight.
I’m more than a little surprised that, ten minutes later, as I’ve just cleared the Lunar Base in a borrowed shuttle and alerted the nearest colony hospital to our arrival and Heero’s condition, I’m still not breathing any easier. I’m a little puzzled by this. I mean, Heero’s not flopped over my shoulder anymore so you’d think the weight would have left with him.
But it hasn’t.
Frowning fiercely, I turn on the comm. and decide I’d better call work and let them know I won’t be coming in today. Oh, and that Heero’s mission has been scrubbed. And that Heero’s injured. And that I’ve also just managed to commit a shitload of protocol misconducts. Oh, and let’s not forget the felonies: breaking and entering, grand theft, and so on.
My hands
aren’t shaking as consider I dialing Wufei’s line but my mouth is dry. Very dry. Which makes a twisted sort
of sense if you consider the fact that my eyes are still watering like
Finally, the expletives I’d put on hold insist on having their fifteen seconds of fame. Even though it ends up being more like fifteen minutes.
Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it damn it!
And in the midst of my near-violent emoting a vast, dark space opens inside me and four little, soul-shaking words echo out:
What have I done?
I’m pretty sure I’ve saved Heero’s life by way of pure, sad-bastard, dumb luck.
But “pretty sure” doesn’t cut it in a business that deals in hard facts. And it’s certainly never cut it in the Preventers.
But it’s a little late for that now.
I glace at Heero. Maybe I’m hoping for some reassurance or a Plan B or something. Instead, I end up staring at his molted, peeling skin... what I can see of it through my reflexive tears and around his clothes anyway. Damn, but he looks so young and lost and... broken.
And suddenly, making that call to Wufei becomes difficult for a whole different set of reasons. And no, I don’t want to talk about it, thanks.
. . .
~ Heero Yuy ~
“Fuck you, man!”
That voice.
“Don’t fucking tell me...”
I know that voice.
“I am calm, you asshole!”
Duo...
The sound of his voice is the only sensory input that manages to filter through the strange grey place I’m drifting through weightlessly. I attempt to open my eyes and I frown at the significant amount of effort I put forth with no appreciable results. Damn. Something this simple shouldn’t be this difficult.
“Look– You know what? Just don’t fucking call me unless you’ve got some half-way decent good news, all right?!”
I hear the click of Duo’s phone closing. A heartfelt sigh accompanies the rustle of clothing and the creak of a cheap resin chair suddenly being forced to accommodate someone’s weight.
I finally win the battle against the dim nothingness and the sight I’m greeted with is of my partner slumped forward in an ugly orange chair with his face in his hands.
My eyes water in the low but persistent glow of the room’s diffused light and something in my chest knots in upon itself at the utter dejection in Duo Maxwell’s bowed body.
My immediate reaction is to reach for words of reassurance, but in my free-floating, vague confusion, I’m at a loss as to how to gather them to me. When my quest for words fails, I attempt to locate a memory for inspiration but even those evade me. For what could be seconds or actual minutes, I simply lie here struggling for syllables that won’t come to me. Helpless, I watch as Duo sprawls back in the worn, plastic chair and quite abruptly treats the tiled ceiling to a rather colorful diatribe.
Those nebulous and as yet unarticulated reassurances lodge in my lungs.
And then Duo tears his malevolent attention away from the fascinating view above us and I find myself lined up in the sights of his hostile gaze.
The slippery words of comfort I’d been trying to close my fingers around shatter completely.
“Oh, great,” he says flatly. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”
I’m startled by the hot aggression lurking in his voice. I watch him rock to his feet and approach me in a determined swagger. I feel like I ought to be cringing under the heat and weight of his glare, but I just stare, mesmerized.
For a moment he just glowers at me. For the life of me, I can’t understand why he’s so angry.
“So,” he bites out as he punches the call button at my bedside with barely contained rage. “You gonna take your turn and bitch me out about professional responsibility now, too?”
What?
“No?” he continues, steamrolling through my confused silence. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get around to it when you’re feeling up to it.”
Feeling up to it? I don’t feel much of anything at the moment except vaguely unsettled. I try to trace the thread of this thought as well, hoping it will lead me to the hows and whys I can’t seem to name. But then that splinters into nothing as Duo narrows his eyes at me. I can’t remember ever seeing a shade of blue as hard or as cold as his eyes.
“I guess you’ll just knock me out again for being so helpful,” he snarls.
Whoa. What the hell is he talking about? Is that how I got here? I hit Duo and he decided to reciprocate? But I can no more understand my motivations for doing that than I can comprehend the source of Duo’s hostility. I mean, what can I say when forced to endure derision of this magnitude?
For a seemingly eternal moment, I just don’t get it. I can’t remember ever hitting him. I can’t think of why I would even want to. I really have no clue.
And then a flash of memory reluctantly answers my witless confusion:
“I need a favor.”
“Sure, man.”
“Hit me.”
Oh, right. X18999. Wait... He thinks I hit him because... But, hold on... All that happened years ago, didn’t it? I strain to tie the fluttering ends of all these thoughts together but it’s just too hard. None of this makes a damn bit of sense and it’s starting to irritate me.
“Duo...” I finally croak out, blinking in response to his anger, my confusion, and the steady stream of light-induced tears crowding my vision.
“Ah, so your vocal chords do work,” he observes snidely. “Well, after the doctor’s through with you, I imagine you’ll be ready to chew on my ass to your heart’s content.”
And I’m so busy trying to figure out what a doctor has to do with anything that I miss my chance to respond.
A third, new voice asks with no small amount of puzzlement, “Why would you be angry with the man who saved your life, Agent Yuy?”
I send a watery glance in the direction of the door and stare at the man who has apparently been appointed my doctor.