Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ Taking Care of Business ( Chapter 35 )

Disclaimer: I'm a destitute student with a laptop and a couple of pens to my name. I doubt you actually want them, and that's all you'd get if you sued me for using parts of Gundam Wing, which doesn't belong to me.

 

 

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 35

 

by danse

 

~*~

 

“Well, Miss... Noin, was it? I must say that you certainly seemed to read my mind. I agree that Her Highness requires some sort of protection, given the amount of strife revolving around the royal family that has occurred in this small but proud nation.” Pargan idly scratched behind his ear. “But I wonder how it was that you found out about Her Highness' sudden return when it was supposed to be a secret, and how you have so quickly jumped on the role of bodyguard to her person.”

 

Noin folded her hands in her lap, glancing around the elegant sitting room, where the butler and family caretaker was interviewing her. Her resumé, hastily prepared at the local library, was on the cherry wood coffee table in front of him, and he referred to it occasionally.

 

Collecting her thoughts, she laid her aces on the table. “I was brought here on a personal mission with someone very close to Her Highness,” she said slowly. “That mission was brought up short, but he charged me with my own: a promise to do what I could to protect her from danger.”

 

Pargan gave her a calculating look. “Who was the man who charged you with this heavy task?” he asked.

 

She met and held his gaze. “It was Milliardo Peacecraft,” she said.

 

Pargan's eyes widened slightly, and she thought she heard him mutter, `Mein Gott,' but with her extremely limited understanding of German, she might have been wrong. He straightened a little more in his seat. “Milliardo Peacecraft? He informed you that this was his name?”

 

“I trust his word,” she said.

 

“What alias does he go by, then? He has been under my radar for years, if this is the case and he is still alive.”

 

Noin hesitated. “I'm... I'm not sure if I'm at liberty to reveal that. He has said repeatedly that he doesn't want his whereabouts made known to other people. He especially doesn't want Her Highness, Miss Relena, to know that he is still alive. He wants her to have the position that is rightfully his, and if he must be believed dead, then so be it.”

 

Pargan smiled. “That boy has not changed in fourteen years, I see.” He stood up, offering his hand. “Miss Noin, I am a trusting man. I may be an old fool for placing such trust in others, but there it is. So this trusting old fool believes your words, and you may have this position, as a favour from myself and you to Milliardo. Wherever and whomever he may be now, may God go with him.”

 

Noin took the proffered hand and shook it firmly, sealing the agreement. “Thank you, sir, on his behalf.”

 

“Please, I am merely the butler and caretaker. Her Highness is your employer; please call me Pargan.”

 

She grinned. “Thank you, Pargan. When do I start?”

 

He looked at his pocket watch. “Her Highness should be on her way home from school, actually. I can introduce you to each other when she comes home.”

 

Pargan made tea, and less than fifteen minutes later, Relena came home, the one remaining royal limousine pulling around the back of the drive to the garage as she walked in the east entrance. After freshening up and changing out of her school uniform, she was escorted into the sitting room by Pargan, where Noin stood by the window, drinking her tea. She turned around when Relena entered, set down her teacup, and gave her a slight bow, dipping her head formally. “It's an honour to meet you, Your Highness.”

 

Relena stood by the couch, giving her a quizzical look. “My name is Relena,” she answered. “And you are...?”

 

Pargan introduced Noin. “This is Lucrezia Noin. She will serve as your bodyguard, and will escort you to school and other places where you wish to go.”

 

Relena looked Noin up and down with one eyebrow raised. “Why do I need a bodyguard?” she asked. “Am I in some kind of danger?”

 

Noin glanced at Pargan, who silently gave her permission to answer the girl's question. “I hope not. Certainly you shouldn't be with my protection.”

 

Relena observed Noin thoughtfully, her head tilted girlishly to one side. Finally she stepped forward, offering her right hand to shake. “Well, then, it's a pleasure to meet you.” She sat down on one of the couches and let Pargan pour her a cup of tea, which she balanced on her knee as she gestured for Noin to sit opposite her. “Please, tell me all about yourself.”

 

Noin sat obligingly, and they talked for over an hour. Noin talked at length about her family and her childhood, growing up in Greece, and her education at military school. She told Relena about how she'd planned to be a math teacher, and about some of her other little secrets, in an effort to make them feel closer. However, she kept her biggest secret to herself: her association with OZ, and her relationship with Relena's brother, who the girl thought was long since dead. As they talked, drinking tea, laughing and joking companionably, and eventually were called to dinner, Noin couldn't help a private smile of delight. It appeared that it would be easy to keep her promise to Zechs.

 

***

 

Zechs arrived back at the OZ headquarters in southern France early in the morning, and after a nap and shower, he went to Treize's office to formally announce his return and further discuss the happenings of the night before with the Colonel. Treize greeted him with a friendly smile as he walked in the office and sat down.

 

After Zechs confirmed Septem's death and handed over the box of his clothes and personal effects to Treize, he elaborated more on the actions of the five young men who had destroyed the Georgia base the night before. Treize was highly interested in what he had to say, but none of the revelations that Zechs had described to him thus far appeared to surprise him to any degree, which seemed odd.

 

Finally, Zechs had fully recounted the mission, and Treize rearranged some papers on his desk as he dropped his own bombshell. “Zechs, you've done a fine job of this operation. No, I mean that. It didn't work out exactly as we'd planned, but you did as you were told and handled the surprises that were thrown at you quite admirably. I appreciate your taking care of Septem for me in a professional fashion. Frankly, that man was on his last chance anyway, and I'd quite had enough. It was a good time to let him go. But that's not my point here.

 

“Zechs, I've put in a request to have you promoted, and it went through. Next week, you will be Lieutenant-Colonel Zechs Merquise.” Treize stood up, came around his desk, and put out his right hand to shake.

 

Zechs stared at the hand in numb shock, not really seeing it. “A... promotion?” he said softly. “That's... er... I'm floored, sir.”

 

“Congratulations,” Treize said, as Zechs slowly stood up and shook his hand. The young officer left the room in a daze.

 

Treize smiled.

 

***

 

Hilde was watching TV when Duo walked in the front door of their apartment on the evening of June 12th, simultaneously dropping his briefcase in the entranceway and yanking at the knot of his tie until it undid itself. He shuffled into his bedroom and shuffled back out five minutes later in a Def Leppard T-shirt and black sweatpants with a hole in the knee, to collapse on the empty side of the couch.

Hilde studied him carefully. “There's Coke in the fridge,” she said.

 

Duo promptly got up and shuffled into the kitchen. She heard the fridge door open and close over the volume of the TV, and thirty seconds later he was back on the couch, popping open a can of Coke and slugging back an enormous mouthful.

 

After he'd drained half the can with his eyes glued to the TV, he finally set it down on the old coffee table with a quiet sigh and said, “Hi.”

She grinned. “Rough trip?”

 

“Not as bad as the last one,” he said. “Well, actually, yes it was, but they were bad in completely different ways. You can't really compare the badness of the two trips to each other.” He let his head flop against the back of the couch. “What the hell are we watching?” he suddenly demanded.

 

She glanced at the set. “Jerry Springer,” she replied, reaching for the remote.

 

“No, leave it. I haven't watched my one episode of Springer for this year yet.” He flapped his hand at her without moving any other part of his inert body. She didn't know what he'd do when he needed to pick up his Coke again.

 

Hilde sat and studied her unlikely roommate, thinking about the revelation she'd had the day before. It still made sense, seeing him sprawled on the couch beside her tonight, and that scared her. She'd been hoping that when he came home, she'd take one look at him and realize that what she'd figured out wasn't remotely true, and that Duo was just an average guy from the company who worked a lot and who owned a gun for self-protection because he was a paranoid American in New York City. If that was true, then she could just laugh it off privately and carry on with her increasingly unusual life.

 

That wasn't happening at all. Even worse, now she had to figure out how to deal with it. She didn't think they could carry on for very long, keeping it a secret from each other that they did the same job. It was absurd.

 

“Duo,” she said, breaking the television-induced silence.

 

He rolled his head listlessly toward her. “Hmm?”

 

She tucked one leg under her, reaching for her own can of Coke on the table. “Tell me about your trip,” she said innocently, never taking her eyes from his face.

 

She was impressed that his tired expression only flickered for an instant, showing only the tiniest traces of panic before it shifted to bewilderment. “What for? It was just a boring business trip,” he insisted.

 

She took a sip of her drink. “I'm heading for another promotion within a few months, and I like my job,” she answered. “I might be going on business trips before you know it, and I wanted to know what they're like. Please tell me.”

 

She knew Duo couldn't argue or shut her down without looking like a jackass. He mustered the energy to lean forward and grab his drink from the table, taking a few gulps from it as he presumably thought up a convincing story.

 

“We were meeting with a startup company from Russia, talking about some mutual assistance. Basically it was kind of like a merger, but they would get to pretend they were still an independent company.” He stared at his can as he told his story, absently making crinkling sounds with it.

 

“What was the bad part?” Hilde asked. “Did the talks break down?”

 

He frowned. “Not really. But... the CEO of the other company managed to have a heart attack several hours before we arrived there, and as a result we didn't make any headway. When your leader is nearly on his deathbed, it's hard to discuss the future, I guess.”

 

“Hmm, that's not very good at all,” Hilde said, trying to keep anything out of the ordinary from her voice.

 

Duo looked up at her. “What have you been doing with yourself?” he asked.

 

“Oh, um, I went to work. Yesterday I vacuumed. Made sure I got the dust bunnies behind the couch.”

 

“Really?” Duo said, looking strained.

 

They turned their attention back to the TV almost simultaneously, just in time to catch the end of Jerry Springer.

 

***

 

When Heero arrived back at J's headquarters the next morning, he successfully slipped past the guards only to discover there was already another assignment waiting for him. J didn't comment on his absence the whole night, although he had most likely been looking for Heero already. He merely handed Heero a file folder and dismissed him from the office, leaving his agent to peruse its contents on his way back to his quarters.

 

It was a simple mission: he had to deliver a sensitive message to a colleague of J's in New York City. After Heero read the page, he stopped in the hallway, looked up at the ceiling in disgust, and turned around to march right back into J's office. He threw the folder down on the desk.

“I'm not your goddamned errand boy,” Heero growled, crossing his arms as he kept the desk between them. “Send a trainee, for God's sake. This is a waste of my energy.”

 

J looked up at his employee calmly. “Where were you yesterday and last night? You couldn't have gotten back more than an hour ago.”

 

Heero swallowed and kept his arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 

J smiled and continued. “If you don't question my motives, I won't question yours. Why don't we just carry on, hm? This is a sensitive document, and you are on the shortlist of people who I trust to carry the information to its destination promptly and securely. My normal channels aren't trustworthy enough for this message. Now, your flight leaves in thirty minutes. Perhaps you should clean yourself up before you leave.” He twisted his high-backed chair around to face the window, cutting himself off from Heero.

 

Heero exhaled forcefully through his nose, grabbed the file, and gave the back of the chair the finger before leaving the room again. He needed a shower.

 

***

 

Heero got off of the plane at JFK Airport at eleven o'clock in the morning, local time. He took his carry-on bag and hailed a taxi to head for the address he'd been given in Brooklyn, the message in a completely sealed envelope in his bag. He watched glumly as the busy, dirty streets moved past the cab window, noting the traffic and figuring that he might have walked faster. J was paying for the taxi though, and it was probably safer for the sake of the document he was carrying for him to sit in the back of a car than walk on the open streets. He settled into the seat, paying minimal attention to the hip-hop music the driver had on the radio.

 

When the car pulled up in front of an office building with granite front steps, Heero paid the driver and got out, scanning his surroundings carefully for any threats to his person or his cargo. Finding none, he walked up the steps and into the building, heading for the receptionist's desk. He showed her a note that J had written for him, presumably in code, and she smiled as she handed it back. “Fifth floor, end of the hall. You're expected.”

 

He nodded at her and strode toward the elevator.

 

On the fifth floor, he got out of the elevator and headed for the door at the end of the hall, opening it to reveal a small waiting area with chairs, a coffee table and plants arranged opposite the little reception desk. An elderly woman sat behind the desk, and looked up at him as he entered. He showed her the note, and she smiled. “He's just seeing someone right now. Would you mind having a seat? I'm sure they'll be done soon.”

 

Heero obeyed and sat, a little annoyed that this objective had to take any longer than it had already. He put the bag down at his feet and drummed his fingers absently on his thigh as he studied a Monet print on the wall.

 

Finally, the heavy, oak door to the inner sanctum opened, and a young man walked out. Heero was inspecting the condition of his sneakers and didn't look up at the newcomer, but the secretary's words felt like cold water running down his spine.

 

“Have a good day, Duo,” she said.

 

A familiar voice responded. “Same to you, Helen.”

 

So our employers are connected, too.... Heero studied his shoes intensely as the other door closed softly behind Duo. As soon as it had, he got up as quickly as he could without looking suspicious and walked into the office.

 

A man as old as J, with a mushroom cut and an enormous nose, greeted him. “Hello. You come from J with a message?” he asked.

 

Heero opened his bag and removed the envelope, handing it to the grizzled, old man. He closed the bag again and was about to turn to leave when the man said, “Sit.”

 

“Umm....” Heero didn't know how to respond.

 

“I may have a return reply. You can save us both some time. Sit.”

 

Heero obeyed as the man ripped open the envelope with a letter opener, using almost unnecessary flourish. It took him five minutes to read the paper, and then he pulled out a fresh letterhead from a desk drawer, grabbing a pen and scribbling a reply. Sealing it in a new envelope, he handed it to Heero. “Please return that to your employer, Yuy.”

 

Heero didn't show his surprise at hearing his name; it had probably been contained within the message he'd brought. With a nod, he took the envelope and put it in his bag before leaving the office.

 

When the elevator returned to the first floor, he got out to see Duo's long braid yet again. The other teen was talking to a blonde office girl in the lobby. Heero hung back and watched as Duo said goodbye to the girl and walked outside, and then he followed.

 

His quarry walked around the side of the building, swinging car keys on his finger. Strains of whistling carried back to Heero's ears. Duo walked into the covered parking lot next door to the building, and Heero continued down the block a bit, noting the security guard at the entrance to the lot. Five minutes later, a vintage, black-and-chrome beast of a Mustang roared out of the garage and up to the street, blending in smoothly with the traffic. Heero didn't even need visual confirmation of the driver to know who it was.

 

Remembering his thoughts only an hour earlier about the traffic, and noting that it was lunchtime rush hour, Heero strolled along the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the old car ahead as it moved through the congested streets. Duo slipped through every hole he could find in the traffic (and he found a surprisingly high number of them) and Heero had to jog to keep up a few times, but he eventually tailed his declared nemesis back to a six-storey brownstone in another part of Brooklyn.

 

As Duo parked at a broken parking meter in front of the building and went inside, Heero walked up to the car. Counting silently to twenty, he waited until he knew Duo wouldn't be near the front door anymore and then went around to the driver's side. Pulling his ever-present lock-picking kit from his jacket pocket, he knelt down and had the door open in less than a minute. With a feral grin, he slid into the vinyl driver's seat, noting that everything in the car was stock except the expensive sound system. A silver cross on a chain hung from the rearview mirror.

 

The only positive thing to say about him, then, is that he has good taste in cars. Heero slid down in the seat, reaching under the dash to get at the ignition wires. The car quickly roared to life under his experienced hands, and he smiled more broadly. But it's not nearly as fun unless they know.... He spotted a scrap of paper on the dash, an old lottery ticket, and dug a pen out of his bag. Scribbling a quick note, he got out of the car quickly and stuck it to the broken parking meter next to the soon-to-be-empty spot. Nearly beside himself with nefarious glee, he got back in the stolen car and peeled off down the street, heading for the airport again.

 

***

 

Duo left his apartment about a half an hour later, bouncing out the front door of his building and jogging over to his car, his key already out. He stopped dead when he got to the curb.

 

“Where the fuck...? What the fuck...?” He raised his hands to either side in a futile gesture, dancing around a bit on the curb as he swore ineffectually at his empty parking spot. Finally, he saw the note stuck to the broken parking meter in front of it, and yanked it off feverishly. The message just increased both his outrage and his cursing.

 

`Since you can't help but elbow your way into my missions, I thought I'd elbow into your life a little. Nice car; I like how it handles.'

 

Below an annoying little picture of a heart was Heero Yuy's name, scrawled in the pointy letters characteristic to Japanese peoples' handwriting. There was more, too:

 

`PS. If you want it back, come and get it. I'm not just fucking kidding here.'

 

Duo crumpled the paper and threw it at the ground. “Cocksucking sonofabitch!” he snarled at it. “Steal my car! How'm I s'posed to know where you've freaking got it?!” He froze, snared by a thought, and stooped to pick up the note again, un-crumpling it hastily and rereading it a few times. “A-ha!” he cried triumphantly, putting it in his pocket and taking off down the block to a place where he could hail a cab. If the cryptic postscript was hinting at what he thought it was, he would find his car.

 

***

 

The cab pulled up to the departure terminal of JFK International Airport and Duo paid him, grumbling. It had been lucky he hadn't left his new wallet in his car, as he was sometimes inclined to do.

 

He found the Park and Jet lot for people who left their cars at the airport while traveling, and his precious Mustang was parked in the middle. He got in and started it, noting that the wires in the ignition had been fixed, and sighed happily when nothing went wrong. As he was leaving the lot, though, the attendant made him pay a twenty-dollar fee for keeping it in there for half an hour.

 

“What? That's ridiculous!” he exclaimed.

 

“As soon as you put it in the lot, sir, we charge for the first day's rent. It's company policy,” the girl said, sounding like she'd had this argument a thousand times.

 

Fuming, Duo gave her a twenty-dollar bill and burned rubber as he peeled out of the lot. He drove as fast as possible for as long as he could on the way back home, and thus burned off some anger. “What I wouldn't give for an open, empty highway though,” he muttered, shifting gears like a race car driver as he approached a knot of traffic. “Stupid Heero. Next time I see him, that fucker owes me twenty bucks.”

 

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