Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ Demenageant ( Chapter 45 )

A/N: Hello to everyone. I know that Link Worshiper has been madly coercing everyone she can into reading DB, and as always I thank her for the pimpage. By writing her boysmut. And if you pimp as much as she does, you get boysmut too! Maybe. We'll see. Anyways, welcome to all the new readers who are caught up, and to all the old ones who were here all along, How you doin'? ;)

 

Disclaimer: It ain't mine, I just mistreat it like it is.

 

 

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 45

 

by danse

 

~*~

 

Hilde and Duo had managed to get two seats together flying standby on a plane back to New York, with a stopover in London. Hilde had been extraordinarily quiet the whole way so far, and Duo had resorted to falling asleep to pass the time. After taking off again in London, Duo had slept for an hour and a half, until the flight attendants came around with food. They ate their beef stroganoff in relative silence, and when she was finished, Hilde took to staring out of her window again, although there was nothing to see but wisps of clouds flying by.

 

After the empty plastic dishes had been removed, Duo was just thinking about another nap when Hilde cleared her throat. Surprised at her using such a conversation starter, he turned to look at her.

 

She kept her gaze trained on the window as she spoke softly, her head leaning against the side of her seat. “I've been thinking, Duo,” she said slowly. “I've been living on your couch for, like, two, two and a half months now. That's too long. You got me a job, and I've only had to pitch in money for groceries so far. I make so much money now that I could go back to the lifestyle I had for a year, maybe two, just on my savings.” She finally turned to look at him, examining the confused and alarmed look on his face. “Before we left Quatre's, I called the landlord, and it turns out that there's a couple suites for rent in your building. The rent is reasonable. He called me back while we were in London and confirmed that I can move into a new apartment, effective immediately.”

 

Duo stared. His mouth was hanging dumbly open; he was speechless. “This... is sudden,” he said meekly.

 

Hilde smiled a little sadly and shrugged. “No time like the present,” she quipped.

 

Duo's mouth worked silently a little more. “Di-did I do something wrong? Are you pissed off at me?” he asked.

 

Hilde moved her gaze to the back of the seat in front of her, staring at the catch on her tray table. She gnawed her lip a little, but Duo didn't really notice it. “You've done nothing wrong,” she answered still more softly. “I just... it's time I started looking after myself.” She sighed and flashed him a quick grin. “Besides,” she said, “your couch is ridiculously uncomfortable. I want to remember what sleeping in a bed feels like!”

 

Duo grinned and started to chuckle, and Hilde joined in, in spite of herself.

 

***

 

When Trowa stepped off the plane in Rome, he bought a northbound bus ticket and settled in for a four hour journey. The scenery started out brown and uninteresting but improved as the bus progressed along the autostrada. Trowa sat quietly in his seat, staring out the window and listening to an MP3 player as hills and sporty two-seaters whizzed by him, going in opposite directions. Finally, as the sun was reaching its height for the day, the bus pulled into its station in Milan. Trowa grabbed his bag and got off, looking around to get his bearings as he shifted the bag's strap on his shoulder. After stopping to use the bathroom, he bought a train ticket and hopped on the metro.

 

It was late afternoon by the time he found the suburb of Corsico, making his way by memorized directions to a newish apartment building on a one-way street. He entered the drab, white-tiled lobby and looked at the tenant list before pressing the button next to the name, 'Carregi, P.' He waited for several seconds before hearing a rattle through the speaker, followed by a female voice saying, “Pronto?”

 

He couldn't keep his face from breaking into a big grin. “Pasqua, la mia cara, sono io, Bartolo.” Catherine had arranged fake identities for both of them.

 

Trowa heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and almost immediately the buzzer sounded to announce that the door to the stairs was unlocked. He opened it and jogged up to the third floor. He barely made it out of the stairs and into the hallway before he was nearly knocked over by a surprise tackle from his sister.

 

“Bartolo!” she cried, still exercising healthy paranoia and self-preservation even in her excitement. “Oh my god, I was worried you would never come! You silly bastard, why did you make me wait so long?”

 

Trowa dropped his bag to hug his sister with both arms, feeling awkward and yet complete at once. “Stayed up at night worrying, did you? I told you not to wait up for me,” he teased. He thought he could get used to this easily enough.

 

They clung to each other in the stifling hallway for a few moments before realizing that they probably looked silly. They released each other, albeit somewhat reluctantly. She stood back, looking embarrassed, and tucked her hair behind her ear, displaying big hoop earrings. “Well,” she said, “home's right down the hall, there. Let's get you settled.” She turned on her heel and walked sedately back to her door, which she'd left hanging open in her haste, and shut it behind Trowa, making excuses for a general lack of cleanliness. She'd actually just gotten the vacuum out right before he called her on the intercom.

 

Trowa stepped out of his runners at the door, kicking them onto the mat as he hung up his jacket. Finally, he gave the place a quick look around. It was small but attractive, with soft, sand-coloured walls that reminded him somewhat of where he'd just come from, and gauzy, white curtains that were currently waving in the breeze. All of her furniture looked more or less new, and the brown tile on the floor was covered with thick rugs. The TV was on; it was some kind of soap opera. All in all, he found it cozy.

 

He saw her give him a nervous look and smiled his approval; she relaxed visibly and picked up his bag, hoisting it on her shoulder. “Your room is this way,” she said, walking through the doorway from the living room into a hallway he hadn't really noticed. He followed her into a small bedroom done in blue, where she set his bag down on the bedspread. “The bathroom's that door right across the hall there,” she said, pointing. “Linen closet is at the end of the hall on the right and we passed the kitchen on the way. My room's next door.” She jerked her thumb to the left, away from the living room. “It's bigger, but I don't wanna hear any complaints. I pay the rent, so I get first dibs.” She winked and grinned, eliciting a chuckle from Trowa at her sibling-antics. It was all still very awkward, but it felt good inside all the same.

 

“Are you hungry?” Catherine said, turning around to look at him again as she walked to the doorway, resting her hand on the doorframe. “I can make a late lunch.”

 

Trowa nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

 

She smiled and left the room, humming. Trowa sighed lightly and set to unpacking his meagre belongings.

 

***

 

After seeing off Heero and Wufei, Quatre decided there was no time like the present to get back to work. While he mostly only did occasional sniper missions for the Maganacs when they needed him, he was more and more often responsible for the planning stages of any new operations they were arranging, since his amazing tactical skills were rare and useful. At the moment, though, there was something more pressing than the 'daily grind' for him to be concerned with.

 

Ever since he'd first met Trowa at the Romefeller conference where he'd assassinated Dekim Barton's son, he'd felt that something was a little off. That he should be in this profession for as long as he had and do as many missions as he had, never encountering another agent with the same intentions, and then suddenly be constantly running into four other people in the same highly unique, child soldier-esque situation as him ever since this Operation Zodiac had emerged from the woodwork—Quatre believed in coincidences but this was absolutely ridiculous.

 

He couldn't say that he thought it was a bad thing that the five boys had been apparently forced together, but someone was clearly leaking his more sensitive information, like the base locations and his planned dates of operations, and the hole needed to be plugged. He had an excellent idea of where to start looking for its source, too: his violin teacher and mentor, H.

 

He was currently pacing around his bedroom, thinking and muttering to himself. “H, S, J, G, O.... Five boys around the same age, who do the same things. Each one knows an old guy, known only by one letter, who acts either like an employer or a mentor or both. Clearly we were part of some program.” He flopped down on his bed and sprawled out, his hands covering his face. “This is all so messed up, though. Supposing I ask H, and supposing he actually tells me the truth, which I could never actually count on happening....” The phone on his desk rang, interrupting his brainstorming session. He reached behind him to answer it. “Hello?”

 

He didn't recognize the quiet voice on the other end at first, and it was muffled and obscured by bursts of static to boot. He frowned at the ceiling, trying to decipher who it was. “...Wufei?” he said suddenly. Wufei's voice sounded lost and disjointed, like he was dizzy or disoriented, but it had an edge of panic to it that carried through the line.

 

“What?” Quatre gasped, reaching with his free hand to cup the receiver under his chin as he sat bolt upright, his eyes going wide with shock. “He—what? Slow down, I can't understand—” But after a second, he did. “Where are you?” he barked into the phone, grabbing a pen and piece of paper off of his desk and scribbling down what Wufei told him. “Help's on the way; stay calm,” Quatre said quickly, slamming the phone back into the cradle as he launched himself off of his bed, skidding out into the hallway and taking off at a full-out run with the piece of paper in his hand. “Rashi-i-i-id!” he yelled. “We've got a problem!”

 

***

 

Hilde and Duo arrived back in New York in the middle of the afternoon, and despite the fact that she felt like just going to bed, Hilde went to see the landlord to get her new keys and give him the security deposit as well as her first month's rent. Duo helped her carry her clothes to her new place, which was actually just downstairs and a few doors over from his. It was already partially furnished: the kitchen had all of its major appliances; there was a bed with a mattress as well as a dresser in the bedroom; a couch and antique-looking coffee table sat in the living room. There was no TV or toaster or anything of the sort; she would have to buy those soon.

 

After moving all of her things, they collapsed on her couch. Hilde stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, looking around. “It'll do,” she said finally.

 

Duo shifted. “Your couch isn't any more comfortable than mine,” he quipped.

 

She grinned, but had to cover her mouth when it turned into a yawn. “I'm so tired,” she groaned. “I hate jet lag.”

 

Duo stood up. “I'll let you get some sleep then,” he said.

 

Hilde frowned. “I have to go buy some sheets.”

 

Duo waved her off without turning around. “I can donate some of my old ones to the cause until you have the energy to go shopping. I'll be back down in a few,” he said, strolling out her door.

 

“Thanks Duo!” she called after him. When he was gone, she leaned into the back of the couch—her couch—and stared at her hands in her lap. Thanks for everything....

 

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A/N: I really just wanna give Hilde a hug. And you, but you knew that already.