Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ Breakout ( Chapter 33 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. My computer hates me. I'm not making any money from this. Blah.

 

 

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 33

 

By danse

 

~*~

 

"Is there anything else we need to take care of, Une?" Treize asked, shifting in his chair.

 

She flipped through the pages on her clipboard, pursing her lips. "I don't--oh. There is still the matter of Marshal Noventa and his committee. They're waiting on an answer."

 

Treize rolled his eyes and got up abruptly, starting to pace. He stopped at the large window behind his desk briefly, putting his hand against the pane as he looked outside, lost in thought. A moment later, he pushed away and started pacing again. "They want to see which base? Georgia, right?"

 

Une checked her clipboard to verify his words. "Yes, sir. That's the one that they're suspicious about."

 

Treize stopped in front of the stately grandfather clock in the corner, watching its pendulum swing as he considered the situation. "Are they busy tomorrow?" he asked finally.

 

His assistant stared at his back in surprise. "Um..." she said, wondering what was going on inside his head.

 

He turned to face her, a warm look in his eyes. "Invite them to go inspect the place to their hearts' content tomorrow. But we're sending Zechs tonight, to straighten things out. We want to be sure that everything is pristine when Noventa shows up with his precious committee tomorrow, right?"

 

Catching on to the scheme, Une echoed the devious smile on Kushrenada's face. "Of course," she said softly. "I'll see to it right away." She stood up and left the room, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.

 

Treize didn't move from his position by the clock even after she left. The smile never left his face, either. If the UN was getting wise to what was going on there, they could throw every committee in their arsenal at him, but as long as he had something to say about it, they'd never find a thing.

 

Stodgy, old British military men. There's nothing quite like them, Treize mused. I wonder if he still lives up to his rank. Not on my watch. The clock chimed the hour, a satisfying sound. All he's going to find when he gets to Georgia is an empty machine tools factory.

 

***

 

After two weeks of obsessing over his problems and not being able to think of an answer, Trowa was nearly at the end of his rope. He had to get away from S and get to Catherine, but he didn't know how to do that; he had to get away from the base to meet Quatre for this mission, but he didn't know how to do that. He groaned loudly, flopping back on the bed in his private quarters to stare hopelessly at the ceiling. He needed to be in Athens by 12:45 tomorrow afternoon, and he had absolutely no idea how he was going to pull it off. What can I do? Just tell my boss that I'm leaving for a few days for reasons that are none of his business, and wave good-bye cheerfully? He'd put a bullet through the back of my head. Trowa rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd gotten way too deep into this situation, and there was no way out. Not that I had a lot of choice about whether I got into it to begin with, what with my being a toddler at the time....

 

It all added up to getting away and staying alive in the process. I could just leave. No see ya later, kiss my ass, nothing. If I do it suddenly, I could get enough of a head start.... He frowned. Odds are high that an escapade like that would end with me in a coffin. But... what else can I do? He sat upright, glaring at a wrinkle in the bedcovers as he thought. Fuck. There's no other way out that I can see, and I honestly think I'm past the point of caring about my own life. I'll get away or die trying, and that's it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hauled himself to his feet, and was out the door without a pause. I need to find the man with the red shirt, so I can get a message to Catherine...

 

After ten minutes of wandering through the compound, Trowa found his quarry coming out of an office in the east wing. He made eye contact and nodded at the hallway to his right, signaling to the man to follow. They went into a bathroom, and after checking that all of the stalls were empty, both went to the urinals as Trowa started talking. "Tell her that I'm getting out, and that the shit is probably going to fly. She'd better be lying as low as possible, because I think they'll go after her if they know where she is."

 

The man shot him an incredulous look. "You're just going to up and leave? You're crazier than she is, boy!"

 

Trowa made an, 'oh well,' face.

 

"How soon will you meet her?" the intermediary asked.

 

Trowa hesitated. "I'm going to stay with a friend for a little while, where they can't find me, and when the dust settles a bit, I'll contact her. You have a contact number for her, don't you?" They both finished up and walked to the sinks.

 

The man nodded. "Where can I leave it?" he asked.

 

"I have a pen. I'll write it down now and use it when I have the chance." Trowa removed a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket and gave them both to the man, who scribbled down a phone number.

 

"There you go," he said, handing Trowa the paper. "God bless you both."

 

The boy nodded. "You make sure you look after yourself, too. I'd hate to see you go down on our account."

 

"Don't worry about me." The man said as he left the bathroom.

 

Trowa leaned against the counter, staring up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Here's hoping everything goes according to plan, he thought anxiously, as he slipped the paper in his pocket.

 

***

 

The morning of June 10th dawned with the promise of a scorching afternoon. S had just started the day's work when his intercom beeped. The new secretary's voice came through clearly. "Sir, Main Door Security is telling me that there's an attempted breach going on out front."

 

"Out or in?" S asked.

 

A pause. "Out, sir. They tell me it's Barton, actually."

 

S glanced at the calendar, double-checking the date. "His day off isn't till Friday," he said.

 

"Well, he's trying to leave now, sir. They want your help out front."

 

S was grimly silent as he hurried from his office to the front door. There was a gun in his hand, and the safety made a loud click when he turned it off in the empty hallway as he ran. He got to the front door just as a gunshot rang through the morning air, and he heard the squeal of tires as he wrenched it open. All he saw was a guard crumpling to the ground with a bullet in his leg as Barton sped away, reaching his arm out of the window to give the whole compound the finger as his car retreated into the distance.

 

S squinted through one eye, aiming his gun, and gave Barton's car a hole in the rear bumper as a parting gift before stalking back inside. He didn't know whether to be angry or happy, frankly.

 

***

 

Quatre stood on the only helipad in Athens, leaning against the shiny black hull of the helicopter as he shaded his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. Even for a desert dweller like him, it was hot. Probably the humidity. We're so close to the ocean.... He checked his watch. The black LCD numbers read '12:55'.

 

"He's not here yet," Abdul said. "Do you think he'll show up?"

 

Quatre didn't appreciate his own fears being voiced like that. "He's still got ten minutes. He'll be here," he insisted.

 

Sure enough, less than a minute after the words left Quatre's mouth, a shiny black car appeared on the near horizon. Quatre smiled broadly, his anxiety dissipating like moisture in the day's heat. "That'll be our boy," he chuckled, turning to open the door of the helicopter. "And you doubted him!" he chided Abdul, though there was a grin on his face. Abdul smirked and raised an eyebrow before walking around the chopper and hopping into the pilot's seat.

 

As the car pulled into a parking spot near the helipad, Quatre jogged the short distance so that he could say hello. His attention was drawn to the back of the car as Trowa got out, and he whistled. "Nice bodywork," he commented, pointing at the bullet hole in the bumper. Trowa came around and looked at it, and then raised his eyebrow.

 

"That's how S says goodbye," he muttered. Quatre barely caught the words.

 

S? A leader with a one-letter name? What a coincidence, he mused silently. "So," he said, unable to put away his amused grin, "it looks like your trip was interesting, then. Did you bring anything?"

 

In response, Trowa hauled a backpack out of the backseat and slammed his car door. He'd left the keys in the ignition and the door unlocked. "Think anyone in Athens likes taking free cars?" Trowa asked.

 

"Why would you leave it here?"

 

Trowa sighed. "I was going to ask you: after this mission is over, can I stay with you for a bit? Because I kind of can't go back to where I came from, now."

 

Quatre stared at Trowa like he was insane. "Sounds like you'll need a home for more than 'a bit', then."

 

"Actually, I have a place to go. Eventually. But I have to wait until the time is right. At any rate," he gestured at the car, "I won't be coming back for this. It isn't mine, anyways, but its owner doesn't seem to care that much about its welfare." He ran his finger over the bullet hole, making a face.

 

Quatre considered all of this for a second, and then nodded. "My home is your home for as long as you need it. Now, come, sir; your helicopter is waiting." He bowed with a sweeping gesture, indicating that Trowa should go and get into the machine.

 

Once they were in, with Trowa's meagre gear stored, and wearing their communication headsets, the doors slammed shut, trapping some of the stifling heat inside. The blades overhead started to turn under Abdul's control, and before long they were in the air, making their way straight to the nation of Georgia. When they got there, they would organize their gear and get ready for the assault on the OZ base. As they traveled, Quatre outlined the details of his plan for invading the base. Trowa just settled back in the seat, listening to his friend talk as he enjoyed the most comfortable moment he'd experienced in weeks, somewhere high above the Mediterranean Sea.

 

***

 

Hilde came home from 'work' nursing a sore ankle, which she had incurred that day during a sparring match with a man almost twice her size. Damn good thing I won, she thought with a satisfied smile as she limped into the living room to collapse on the couch. She sighed, relishing the rare chance to show how tired she was. Duo had told her that morning that he wasn't coming home after work, because he was leaving on that business trip this afternoon. He'd be home the day after tomorrow.

 

Suddenly remembering something, she hauled herself back to her feet and yanked one arm of the couch forward, exposing the wall. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise--the gun wasn't there, for the first time in two weeks of daily checking. Just to be sure, she got to her knees and peered underneath the couch. She was right; a lot of dust, but no gun.

 

How interesting, she thought, flopping onto the floor. She leaned against the side of the couch, staring at the wall. He went to the bathroom this morning, while I was still in the kitchen. I bet it was then. And then he went on that business trip.... The colour drained from Hilde's face as the puzzle pieces fitted together suddenly.

 

"God damn, I'm an idiot."

 

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