Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ Smiling Knives ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of several pieces of Gundam Wing merchandise, including a model of Deathscythe Hell and several books. I tried to present this as a legal loophole to my lawyer to prove that I do actually own Gundam Wing. He patted me on the head and said, "Nice try." Then he gave me a piece of paper. reads 'I do not own Gundam Wing or any person, place, or thing belonging to that name that may appear in this story. I am receiving no compensation, monetary or otherwise, from this work.'

Author's Note: Okay. Allow me to explain this…undertaking. This is a Gundam Wing alternate universe fic (present time), about spies. That's right, spies. It will be very long. There will be romance, because what is a long story without romance? Het and slash both. If one or the other bothers you, I don't want to hear about it. I have a predilection for utilizing a grandiose vocabulary. I'll try to curb the urges whenever possible, but I still write wordy. That's about it. Please don't forget to review, o-tay? (.)

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 2

By danse

Somewhere in Mediterranean Europe, hidden in the hills, was the heavily protected and highly secret base of a small guerilla group. A man, who was known to his underlings only as S, organized it.

If you could manage to get past the front door, you would find yourself facing a long hallway, lined by about twenty identical steel doors that led to the rest of the compound. If you entered the sixth door on the right and took two left turns, passing three guard stations and two doors locked by keycards, you would find yourself standing in front of the Playroom.

The Playroom was ironically named. It was a large chamber filled with weapons: knives of every size, swords, darts, and several other sharp and blunt objects of destruction. There were practice dummies and standing targets, as well as a sparring ring in one corner, meant for practice in hand-to-hand combat.

Agents who served S used the room, as well as two others in the compound, on a regular basis, but one agent in particular could often be found in the Playroom, and as it happened, he was currently using it to learn the art of throwing knives.

Trowa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he stared at the target. Man-shaped and flat, with a bulls eye drawn over the heart, it taunted him from across the room where it was stuck to the wall. Two small, black-handled knives were lodged in the outer rings of the bulls eye, and many more puncture marks dotted the whole figure.

Carefully, he brought the specially balanced knife in his hand back over his shoulder. With the blade between his fingers, he snapped his wrist forward quickly. The knife flew toward the target, and stuck with a dull thud in the outer ring with its mates. He frowned at the whole display and shifted another knife from his left hand into his right, concentrating again.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice came so unexpectedly from behind his left ear that he jumped and nearly dropped the knife on his foot. He whirled around to find himself staring at wavy brown hair. Below it was a female face, smirking at him.

"Boo," she said.

"Jesus Christ, Catherine! You startled the hell out of me!" Trowa glared at her. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold it for long and broke down into a half smile.

"…And if I was anybody else, you would be dead right now," she purred. "I think you need to be just a little more paranoid. You'll live longer."

Catherine winked at him and went to the target board to pull out the knives that were lodged in it. Trowa used the opportunity to admire the view. She was wearing a black spaghetti strap tank top and tight black jeans held up by a silver belt, showing off all of her curves. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind ears that displayed multiple silver studs and rings. She brought back the knives and smiled at him, and he tried to wipe the dopey look from his face, without much success.

"Looks like you're having fun, Trowa. How long have you been in here?"

He shrugged, unsure. "An hour, maybe two?"

"Are you making any progress at all?" She grinned and leaned against the ropes of the sparring ring.

"Not much. This is damn hard."

"Well, why don't you take a break and I can try it? It looks like fun."

Trowa smirked. "Are you going to give me lessons?"

She gave him an annoyed look that, nevertheless, looked very seductive, as if she couldn't control it. He had to restrain the urge to melt into a puddle on the floor. "All right," he said, and held out the handful of knives. "Go ahead."

She beamed and took all six of them, then stood with the toe of her sneaker against the mark on the floor. Trowa stood behind her and waited; as far as he knew, Catherine was a secretary or something. He was quite sure she'd gotten her job for her looks and nothing else. He just hoped she wouldn't hurt herself with the knives.

Catherine leaned forward slightly, shifted two of the throwing knives from her left hand to her right, and stared at the target with intense and confident concentration. Trowa raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, but decided to let her do what she wanted.

With the handles between her fingers instead of the blades, she drew her arm across her chest and flicked it forwards. The knives landed in the head of the man-shape, separated horizontally by about two inches, instead of on the chest target. Trowa frowned. She missed completely. At least she got within the outline, though. On her first try!

Catherine wasn't done with her experiment yet. She took two more of the knives and flung them, smiling with satisfaction when they landed in the head as well, side by side again, right underneath and just a little outside of the first two. Almost immediately, she released the fifth, and it landed between and just barely below the third and fourth.

She turned around and smiled at Trowa. "Thank you," she said happily, playing with the sixth knife in her hands. He smiled back, a little uncertainly, and held out his hand to take it from her. She didn't give it to him, though. Instead she smiled more widely, brought the knife to her lips, and kissed the flat of the blade. Then, in one fluid motion, she turned around and threw the last knife from across her chest. It landed with a thunk, embedded nearly to the hilt, in the very middle of her collection of knives on the target.

Trowa thought he heard a giggle from behind him as he gawked at the wall. There was now a grotesque happy face of knives smiling at him from the head of the man-shape. Still gaping, he turned around quickly, looking for Catherine. She was gone.