Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ The Seeds of Doubt ( Chapter 54 )

A/N: There's a lot going on in this one, whee. I also have some more Ombres up on my eljay (link in my profile), if you're into that sort of thing.

 

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, so please don't sue me svp.

 

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 54

 

by danse

 

~*~

 

It was Thursday, so after her History class ended, Relena scooped up her books hurriedly and made for the locker room to change for her tennis club. When Relena strode in, Dorothy, whose locker in the changing area was two down from hers, was already in there, pulling out her gym clothes and racquet. She looked up as she was loosening her tie and her expression changed to that maliciously amused one she usually treated the princess to.

 

“Relena, hello! And how are you today?” she said mock-cheerfully as she shucked off her blazer and tie and hung them both up in her locker.

 

Relena rolled her eyes and dropped her bag next to the bench before grabbing her combination lock to open it. “I'm very well, Dorothy; thank you ever so much for asking.” The thought occurred to her that she shouldn't encourage the other girl's snarkiness, but then who could say it would stop anyway? She hauled her tennis racquet out of her locker and propped it up against the bench before grabbing her own gym clothes.

 

“So, have you blown the new gardener yet?” Dorothy asked as she tied the laces of her running shoes.

 

Relena felt her face go hot. “What did you just say? I never thought you could be so crude!” she snapped.

 

The filthy-mouthed heiress just snickered. “Well, the way you were going on about him the other day.... What, you've never messed around with boys—or men—before?”

 

The heat spread to Relena's ears. “I—what—what business is that of yours?” She stood up in a huff. “I don't care if you're... if you're going down on your private tutors when you're supposed to be learning History, but I have decorum.” She lifted her chin proudly, willing her blush to go away.

 

A practiced eye could see Dorothy's jaw clench for a split second before she burst out laughing, nearly doubling over in her mirth. “Decorum! Did you even know that word before you moved here? Oh my.” She wiped at her eyes. “You can't take a joke at all, can you, Princess?” she said.

 

Relena finished tying her shoes and snatched up her tennis racket, brandishing it at Dorothy. “I've told you before not to call me that,” she said. “Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go work on my serves.”

 

Dorothy grabbed her equipment and followed Relena out of the changing room. “You know,” she said into her ear, “OZ sent him.”

 

The Crown Princess of Liechtenstein stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly with a look of calm venom on her face. “Pardon me?” she said.

 

Like a cat that had just got the cream, Dorothy said, “OZ. They sent your gardener, and not to trim the hedges to look like elephants. You're being watched very carefully indeed, Your Highness. I'd lock my doors at night, if I were you.”

 

“Ah. I suppose that all of those members of your esteemed family, who naturally hold you in their deepest confidence, were the ones who told you this?” Relena replied. She turned away, catching a tennis ball that another girl tossed at her. “Thank you ever so much for giving me a heads-up,” she said over her shoulder.

 

She stared at the ball in her hand as she hurried to the farthest court to warm up, squeezing it until the skin turned white under her fingernails. Dorothy always seemed to know just where all the chinks were in a person's armour.

 

***

 

When Noin brought Relena home after her tennis club finished up, she had to excuse herself almost right away. “I have some things that I need to go take care of,” she said. “I'll be back in an hour. Get started on your homework, okay?”

 

As soon as she was safely gone, Relena sidled past Pargan and made her way to the west garden, where the new gardener was spreading what looked and smelled like fertilizer around some shrubs with a spade.

 

“Um,” Relena managed as she approached.

 

He looked up at the sound of her voice and his gaze felt like it was stabbing her, but unknowingly. After a second or two, he straightened, wincing, and stabbed his spade into the rosebed. “Uh, hello,” he said in a thick German accent. “You are Miss Relena, yes?”

 

She couldn't speak. Praying wildly that she wouldn't blush for the second time that day, she managed to smile. “Uh, yes. Yes, that's me. Your name is Mr. Gehlen, right?”

 

“Call me Karl, please, Miss,” he said, leaning on the spade.

 

“Call me Relena,” she answered, feeling more comfortable.

 

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I could not. That would be... not right.”

 

Sensing an awkward silence approaching, she cast around for something else to talk about before he excused himself back to his work. “Your English is really good,” she said. “When did you learn it, if you don't mind my asking?”

 

He yanked off a gardening glove and scratched his nose. “Eh... I have learned it in school. My uncle, he is a teacher and he made me practice a lot.” He grinned. “Can you speak some German, Miss?”

 

The threatening blush erupted on her cheeks. She ducked her head. “Not really,” she said. “It's kind of hard.”

 

He laughed at that, and it was the best sound she'd ever heard. “Would you like me to teach you some German words?” he asked.

 

She looked up in surprise. “Really?”

 

“Ya.”

 

She chewed her lip for a second as she thought about it, but there really was no choice, as far as she was concerned, if she wanted to get to know him better. “Okay. Teach me some words.”

 

He looked around, then gestured down at the spade he was leaning on. “Spaten,” he said.

 

“S-spaten,” she repeated.

 

He grinned and pointed at the wheelbarrow of fertilizer to his left. “Schubkarren.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Schubkarren,” he repeated more slowly.

 

“Schub... karren.”

 

“Ya, ya, you are good at this. One more, okay?” He picked up his discarded glove from the grass and waved it at her. “Handschuhe,” he said.

 

“Handschuhe,” she repeated carefully. “Spaten... Schubkarren... Handschuhe.”

 

“I do not see why you have such trouble learning German,” he said. “You seem talented to me.”

 

“I... Uhh... Thank you!” she said. “I mean, danke!”

 

Karl smiled at her and then picked up his spade again, clearly attempting to signal an end to the conversation. Relena reluctantly waved goodbye and clasped her hands behind her back as she made her way back inside and to her waiting homework. He's so nice as well as being ridiculously gorgeous, she thought as she let herself back in the house. Dorothy's gotta be full of it; he can't be working for OZ or out to get me. He just can't.

 

***

 

The thing that Noin had needed to take care of was Zechs, who was back on the same park bench he'd met her at the last time, watching the ducks again. It was a cool and windy day, so the ducks all bobbed in unison on the choppy pond surface, their heads scrunched into their chests.

 

“I should have worn a heavier sweater,” Noin said as she seated herself beside Zechs on the bench. “I didn't think it would be so windy in the park.”

 

“I won't keep you too long,” Zechs assured her. “So, what's new?”

 

“Nothing, really,” Noin said. “Everything's just kind of... stagnant, I guess. Since the last time we spoke, I mean. Relena and I are running out of tourist attractions to see; she still sucks at German but has discovered an inexplicable love for bratwurst; she and her friend Dorothy still seem to be at each others' throats more often than not... oh, and I think she's got a crush on the new gardener.” She chuckled.

 

“New gardener? You hired someone?” Zechs sounded agitated.

 

“Yes, last week in fact,” Noin said, giving him her best 'I'm sure you don't have a problem with this' look. “Don't give me that look, Zechs Merquise. I checked him out thoroughly. You know, I remember a time when my word was good enough for you.”

 

He winced and looked down at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap. “Sorry, Lucy. I just.... I worry about her, you know? Just overprotectiveness, I guess.”

 

She stifled a smile at the revival of her old nickname. “Speaking as a girl who grew up with four older brothers, I understand that concept completely, and I assure you that if Relena ever gets a firsthand taste of that overprotectiveness, she'll hate you for it.”

 

“You girls and your harsh words,” Zechs said peaceably. “Well, I'm glad everything's still going smoothly for you.”

 

“How are things back at OZ?” Noin said quickly, before he could end the conversation. As much as she enjoyed living the high life and not killing people or being blown up or shot at, these clandestine meetings and tastes of what counted for normalcy in her life were starting to leave her feeling like a housewife who dreams of going back to the workforce.

 

He sagged a little, which indicated that the answer would not be 'fabulous'. “It's all a goddamn mess, Lucy. You remember that I told you about that base we lost in Georgia, right?” When she nodded, he went on. “Well, we've lost another one in Algeria since then and shortly after that, Dekim Barton's wife was poisoned at a party. You know who he is? Big shot from Romefeller. Anyway, Barton's son was also assassinated a few months ago, and he's convinced now that someone's trying to get to him by picking off his family. Commander Treize is pretty sure the wife's death was a botched attempt on Barton himself, though.”

 

Noin frowned. “I remember seeing Mrs. Barton once. She did a lot of charity work; who would want to kill her?”

 

Zechs shrugged. “The details are many and complicated, but I'm inclined to agree with the commander that the poison was meant for Barton himself. Anyway, following that, there was some marginally better news: someone tried to infiltrate a Leo base in Siberia, probably to destroy it, but he did it alone and ended up being captured. It was a teenage kid, Noin. Can you believe it?”

 

“Yes,” she said hollowly. “Yes, I can believe that.”

 

Zechs continued. “I never got to set eyes on him before some other kamikaze kid came and busted him out of there, but I'm fairly sure from the physical description that I've seen him before, and that I know what's going on here now.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He shifted his position to look at her seriously. “Five teenage boys, at the very least. They're the problem here, and they've blown up five bases, attempted a sixth and assassinated two people. Someone's got child soldiers!” he said with an incredulous laugh, as if it could actually be funny.

 

Noin felt numb. “Who's doing this? Who's figured OZ out?” she asked.

 

“Well, I still don't get to hear everything firsthand,” he said. “Most of what I just told you is accumulated rumours and me drawing conclusions based on what I've seen for myself. I think it's this group called White Fang, though.”

 

She looked at him curiously. “Where have I heard that name before?”

 

“Probably back at school,” he answered. “White Fang was a special branch of OZ when it was first conceived and put together; it was responsible for a lot of the research and development of the original divisions, particularly the Leo and Aries ones. Taurus, Pisces and Cancer were built up after the White Fang branch disintegrated but from some of their ideas.”

 

Some of what he said was ringing bells. “What happened to them then, if they used to be part of OZ but broke apart?”

 

“I'm not really sure, but I've heard that some of the higher-ranked scientists and their assistants deserted and started up a resistance movement. They kept the name as some kind of symbolic gesture.”

 

“And then they developed child soldiers and sent them to start a guerilla war? How is that better than what OZ is trying to do?” Noin demanded.

 

Zechs shrugged. “The politics of it are not my department,” he said. “I'm a soldier and that's all I'm fit to do.”

 

Noin sank into the bench and stared at the choppy water of the pond. Her head was practically spinning from the onslaught of all this information—intrigue, insurrection, continued loss of life on their side. It didn't seem to take much time removed from it all to feel like it was impossible to keep up with the fast pace of the whole game.

 

“Keep your guard up, Noin,” Zechs said, as if he could read her thoughts. “I don't know what these kids or their group are up to, but I can't help but feel like all the shit's about to hit the fan.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it, possibly offering comfort or possibly seeking it.

 

She squeezed back, regardless.

 

***

 

“Duo!” Hilde called as she opened his front door. “Duo, where--” She stopped dead and leaned over the couch, peering down at him through the gloom. “How long have you been lying there?” she asked. “Weren't you there when I left yesterday?”

 

He glared up at her and shifted to face the back of the couch instead. “What's your point?”

 

She dumped the bags she was holding—groceries, from the looks of them—on the floor and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him over onto his back again. “My point is that you've been on this couch for three whole days and I'm pretty sure there's nothing physically wrong with you except some fading bruises. The doctor agreed with me, so don't you fucking start,” she said, raising a finger when he opened his mouth to protest. Her face took on that look she was going to be wearing permanently once she had kids, and she crossed her arms. “Get. Up.”

 

Duo turned back over, determined to have none of it. “Don't you have to go to work or something?” he said.

 

Hilde grabbed his shoulder again but he refused to budge this time. “I did go to work, and then I came home. I even bought you groceries on the way, since the only thing in your fridge is half a bottle of mustard and some lettuce that needs to be thrown out. It's 7 p.m. and you'd know that if you could be bothered to open your blinds and let some daylight in here once in a while.” As she said that, she stalked over to the window and yanked up the blinds in question, causing a square of evening sunshine to fall right on Duo's face.

 

He groaned and covered his eyes. “Don't you have your own home to go to? I'm a big boy, so leave me alone.”

 

“You're acting more like a big baby, and I'm starting to wonder what you'd do without me around to make sure you don't die,” she growled back, snatching up the grocery bags. “Get off your ass and come help me put this stuff away. It's your food.”

 

He bit back the retort that he hadn't asked for it and she could keep it, and eased himself to his feet. There really was nothing physically wrong with him, except for stiff joints and a tender shoulder. Doctors didn't examine broken hearts or spirits, though, and Hilde was thankfully unaware that he was suffering from either one. He grabbed the nearest bag off of the counter and started putting vegetables away in the fridge, stopping only to haul out the unfortunate-looking head of lettuce that Hilde had mentioned.

 

“How long have I been back home, now? Four days?” he said, after emptying a bag into the vegetable drawer.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And how long was I gone before that?” he said hesitantly. The fact that he'd disappeared and Hilde hadn't known what happened until he'd come stumbling back home was a bit of a sore spot for her.

 

Her voice was remarkably composed. “A week,” she said, shoving cereal in the cupboard with unnecessary force.

 

He studied a carton of milk as he tried to decide how to phrase his next question. “And has G or anyone mentioned anything about me in that time?”

 

She stopped and turned to him with a can of soup in her hand, looking puzzled. “No.”

 

Duo shut the fridge. “That's interesting.”

 

“How so?” Hilde's full attention was on him now; she leaned back against the counter and looked at him.

 

He played with the fridge door absently, opening and closing it in increments and watching when the light switched on and off. “Because,” he said, “it's been eleven days and I haven't been in contact at all. There should be headhunters hiding in the closet by now.”

 

“But I don't get it,” she said. “You've gone away on long missions before, right?”

 

“Yeah, but this little trip had nothing to do with G or any of his people. I've basically been AWOL for eleven days. Well, longer, actually. I haven't been into the office in over three weeks and no one's said anything.”

 

Hilde smiled ruefully. “Maybe that means you're fired,” she said.

 

He looked up sharply. “Have you been on any operations since you went to Lebanon?”

 

“Two.”

 

“When was the last one?”

 

“A week ago,” she said. “I had to go to Austria and I got back, like, the day before you came home.”

 

A sick feeling settled in his stomach and Duo rubbed his face. “Do you want a ride to work tomorrow?” he asked.

 

Hilde eyed him. “You're going in to work?”

 

“No,” he snapped, “I just miss driving through rush hour in Manhattan. Do you want one or not?”

 

“Okay,” she said quickly. “I'll see you tomorrow morning.” She had the good sense to leave after that.

 

Duo waited till the door shut behind her and then wadded up all of the empty plastic bags and shoved them deep into the garbage can. After standing there and chewing his lip for a minute, cursing in his head at his own stupidity, he yanked open the fridge and started hauling out things to make a sandwich.

 

***

 

Appearance is everything, Duo thought as he sauntered into the lobby of G's building the next morning as if he owned the place. His hair was freshly washed and tightly braided and he was dressed like a young millionaire: smart grey pants and suit jacket and a blue striped shirt underneath with the top button undone, exposing his collarbone. Hilde hung off his arm like some A-list wannabe at the Oscars.

 

“You should have worn a tie,” she muttered in his ear.

 

“Ties are for the meek,” he muttered back. “Have a nice day, doll.” He kissed her cheek and slapped her ass as she left his side, and she glared back at him as she shuffled away. He winked.

 

The receptionist was tracking him like a bloodhound. “Mr. Maxwell?” she said, giving him a once-over and a smile.

 

He leaned on her counter and grinned back. “Going to the top floor, my dear. Don't bother paging; he knows I'm on my way.”

 

She looked entranced. “Sure thing.”

 

“That's my girl.” Duo walked away, wearing his cocksure grin all the way to the elevator.

 

As soon as the door opened on G's floor, he charged out and streaked right past the startled Helen, yanking open the heavy door to the inner sanctum without actually stopping. G and the twenty-something man he was chatting with both looked up in surprise as he barged in, and Duo simply grabbed the man by the tailored shoulder of his jacket and threw him out into the reception area, shutting the door securely behind him. He turned to face G again, his hands clenched at his sides.

 

“Long time no see, Duo,” G said, having already regained his composure. Duo was determined not to let him get the upper hand, though.

 

“Fuck you, you stupid old geezer.”

 

The stupid old geezer pinched the formidable bridge of his nose. “Why don't you have a seat?”

 

Duo crossed the remaining distance to the desk at a near-glide and slammed his hands down on the mahogany. “Why don't you shut the hell up and let me do the talking for a change? Huh? Why don't you do that?”

 

G returned his glare. “Yes, why don't I do that,” he said. “What seems to be the problem, here?”

 

No, Duo thought. No, do not let him make you feel foolish. Keep up that rage and let him have it all this time. He took a deep breath. “The problem here is you! I thought I was free of you! I was free!”

 

“You are free; I let you go. I thought you'd realized that was why you weren't dead or back downstairs by now.”

 

“You didn't let me go! You never let me go, did you, you fuck? I'm still tied up in your goddamned games!” Duo pushed away from the desk and started to pace.

 

G's eyes never left him. “I'm not sure what you're getting at, sonny. Can you be a little less loud and a little more clear?”

 

“It was all too simple. Too simple,” Duo hissed, treading a trench in the expensive carpet. “Sure, why not let me start lifting supplies from Ivanov and go off without a word for days, weeks at a time? Oh, wow, four new teammates just like me popping right out of nowhere who, after never seeing a trace of them for the past ten-odd years I've been doing this shit, suddenly turn up around every fucking corner! It's obviously all just a big fucking coincidence, isn't it, G?” He stopped behind a plush visitor's chair and glared down his boss again.

 

G looked away.

 

Duo smirked. “I knew it.” He gripped the back of the chair until his nail beds turned white, and then walked around to sit down in it and clasp his hands over his knees. He leaned forward. “Am I ever going to be free of you?”

 

“Duo,” G said, “you're certainly free of me. You've just gone over my head now.”

 

“What?”

 

He sighed. “You're a smart kid; think about it. You think I don't have bosses? You think—you think we all don't work for the same damn people? For Christ's sake, Duo, there's always another puppetmaster! We're all just having our strings pulled by someone.” He raised his elbows in the air and did a mocking mime of a dancing puppet in his chair.

 

“Who's pulling your strings then?”

 

“I can't tell you that.”

 

“Of course not.” The teen jumped to his feet, feeling righteous anger surging back into every part of his body. “Of course not,” he said louder. “You've got a string attached to your mouth, too, haven't you? Can't fucking tell a guy anything, even if it might help save his ass, can you? And at the same time, you just keep taking! Taking and taking and taking!” He could hear his voice wavering as it rose to a yell, and he pointed accusingly as his arm started shaking.

 

He saw with sick satisfaction that he'd just pushed G's last button. The old man lurched out of his chair and it sailed backwards and knocked into the thick, floor-to-ceiling window. “What, Maxwell? What am I taking from you now?” G demanded, his arms spread as if he was Jesus and talking about slings and arrows or something.

 

“You fucking know! Fucking Hilde!” Duo yelled, slamming his palms down on the desk again. “Jerking her strings, too! What good is she to you, dammit? She's not cut out for a life like this and you and I both know it. You gonna get her killed someplace and teach me a lesson? Huh? Need that last little victory over me? Well, you've fucking got it, don't you?” Duo, still pointing shakily, backed around the chair and toward the door, his eyes glued on the man before him. His voice, already pushed near its limit by emotion, fell nearly to a whisper. “You've got your pound of flesh, you piece of shit.”

 

“Duo,” G started, but Duo grabbed the door handle behind him and stepped out of the office, slamming the door as hard as he could. He flicked a glance at Helen and the guy he'd manhandled as he stalked away, and no one said a word.

 

He looked down at his hands after he'd jabbed the elevator button, and stuffed them into his pants pockets as he willed them to stop shaking. He'd really thought that would feel better than it had, but in the end it figured that he was still being manipulated by people too far above him to see. The bigger picture... it was lost. He stepped into the elevator.

 

***

 

“Yo, Hilde! Hilde!”

 

Hilde stopped kicking and steadied the bodybag in front of her as a guy she vaguely recognized jogged across the gym, waving. She stooped to pick up her towel and started scrubbing at her arms and neck with it. “What?” she said.

 

The guy stopped a few feet away, huffing a bit. “You're wanted in G's office,” he said.

 

She frowned. “Really?”

 

He nodded. “As soon as possible.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and started unstrapping her boxing gloves, allowing him to help her get the first one off. “Thanks,” she said, picking up her stuff and heading for the shower.

 

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in her business attire and smiling at Helen as she pushed open the big, wooden door. G sat sombrely behind his desk and as soon as her foot crossed the threshold, a warning bell went off in her head. She made her way cautiously to a chair and sank into it.

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

 

“Yes, Ms. Schbeiker.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chin and pressed them against his lip. “I'm not sure how to make this gentle, so I'll just say it. I'm letting you go.”

 

The words echoed in her ears and she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, gripping the arms of the chair. “Sorry?” she said with a little laugh, hoping this was some kind of joke.

 

“Look, Hilde, you don't want to keep doing this; you risk your life every time you go out in the field and someday, sooner or later, chance is going to beat you. It's time to move on.”

 

This was not happening. Not. Happening. She cleared her throat. “G, I don't—why are you doing this? What else can I do with myself?” She heard her voice rising a bit hysterically but couldn't seem to stop it. “My last job was as a prostitute, for god's sake. And now I'm a—a secret agent! An assassin! How many jobs do you think I can get with that on my resume? I don't have a high school education! You're—you're basically killing me by trying to save my life, is what you're doing here!”

 

He held up a hand. “And that's why I'm happy to give you a glowing reference for the last several months of dedicated office work you've been paid to do here,” he said, his look pinning her to the seat. “Truly, I think you'll find that all the people you've worked with in the accounting department to this day will have nothing but nice things to say about you, and that will help you in finding a new job.”

 

His words—and their significance—sank in, and she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. So he wasn't just throwing her out without a care. And the price of this consideration was obviously going to be absolute silence. She looked down at the floor, studying the pattern of the carpet as she tried to compose herself.

 

“Ms. Schbeiker?” G said. “I'm going to call a member of security personnel to help you gather your personal possessions and escort you from the building now.”

 

She nodded and looked up at him, and everything was blurry through the tears that were forming. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.

 

><> ><> ><> ><>

 

A/N: ...And that's the last G will see of Hilde. Obviously, it's not the last we'll see of her, though. She's got a life and a storyline to get on with, anyway. Take it easy and I'll see you next time, folks.