Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Devil's Due ❯ - 01 - ( Chapter 1 )

—01—

October 14, A.C. 204. Lower Angels. 7pm

"So, there's this lovely little thing called supper," Chai noted somewhat acerbically to her husband. "And the key to it is that you eat it while it's hot...and usually at a set time every night."

"Shit," Jordan returned, looking to his watch and running a hand down his face. "Sorry, babe...I'm sorry."

"Where are you?" she demanded in annoyance.

"At the Rest," he admitted with a sigh. "I had my watch set, but when it beeped there was one more thing to get done."

"Jordan," she started in irritation, then sighed. "Fine, whatever. I'm going over to the M building."

"Chai," he protested before she could hang up, "I'll be home in a half hour, come on..."

"I told Paris I'd come down, so I'm going," she noted pointedly. "See, I had this nice little supper cooked up," she tossed his plate of cold food onto the counter, "about an hour ago...no, no," she noticed the clock on the wall. "Two hours ago."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, starting to close up his folders. "I lost track of time."

"I know," she returned, then sighed. "I don't want to be mad at you."

He sighed himself, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry...I...I'll come home early tomorrow."

"Yeah, right," she agreed...and hung up.

Jordan dropped the phone back onto the cradle, glowering at it.

The Rest was her idea.

"What's up?" Chance asked curiously swinging into the room to look at his friend.

"Chai called," Jordan explained, shoving the files in his inbox and starting to clean up his mess. "I was supposed to be home two hours ago."

Chance flinched appreciatively.

"Aren't we still supposed to be honeymooning?" Jordan demanded of his friend as he grabbed his jacket.

"Well, the honeymoon thing is supposed to last the first year...but you keep pulling her up short and you've been with her for what? Six years now?"

"I guess," Jordan muttered irritably, checking his pockets for his keys. "Six months is a bit early for us to be bickering, don't you think?"

"I think I'm going to side with her, because if I don't Shin will get pissed at me and put our wedding off." He moved from his friend's path with a smirk. "Oh, and Jor?"

"Yeah?" Jordan asked, rolling his eyes in anticipation.

"If you're late to my wedding I won't just get pissy and hang up with you."

Jordan grinned at that, hitting the guy in the arm as he started down the hall.

"If you get her flowers," Chance noted, "she'll continue being pissed, you realize that don't you?"

"Harhar," Jordan retorted, then started down the stairs.

Chance grinned and dropped the file he'd had in his friend's inbox, locking the door behind him as he started back for his own office.

It had been a few days past a year since they'd set up the mission to begin with. Christmas was coming and the line of people had thickened. It wasn't nearly so long or large as it had been the year before, but it was still enough to make his stomach turn. He hadn't thought the mission would be self perpetuating, but every time they started to get low, Chai would mingle and mutter about being worried...and things would just show up like magic.

They'd all thought Relena brought results, but Chai's sweet and quiet demeanor made everyone want to reassure her that she didn't have to be so quiet, or she didn't have to sit in the back and listen. That want of including her and then when they'd see her smiling...she had won just about as many hearts in Relena in just about the same amount of time.

The only difference was that she'd gotten married and her wedding had been so over-crowded with gifts that she'd given some of it up to the mission. This may have pissed a few people off, but by and large everyone seemed delighted by it. They considered her completely selfless, and if anyone got wind that she was getting upset with Jordan, he'd probably have a mob.

But then again, they might get someone to take over part of his job so he could get home on time.

Chance shook his head as he moved down the hall to his own office. It was rare, anymore, that he would be needed in the evenings. The main concern when night fell was getting blankets or warm food. Occasionally, someone with kids and no money to pay a power bill that'd been overdue the month prior.

The...the lines, though. The lines had shortened. That was good, right? That meant they were getting it done right, didn't it?

He had no way to measure, because people had given false names, thinking they wouldn't be able to get more assistance under their true names. The lists of names included weird ones like Justify...or hundred and hundreds of "John".

Speaking of Jon...

"Hey," Jon Breer muttered, moving to walk beside Chance. "You coming out tonight? Where's Jor?"

"Jor had to go home. Chai made supper two hours ago, so he's running."

"Ouch," Jon flinched appreciatively. "What was it this time?"

"I stopped asking about a month ago," Chance noted, grinning slightly. "And actually, I've got to get back to base and talk to Une. She's back from Portugal now, and it's her I'll have to get my house through."

"House?"

"Yeah, next door to Jordan. The guy who lived in it before has moved to a different base, so it's open. It sounded prime to me, but Une wasn't about."

The mafioso nodded his approval of that.

"What are you doing here?" Chance added, raising an eyebrow at the man. "There's no way in even this hell that you'll be getting assistance."

Jon smirked at him and rolled his eyes. "I've been trying to get Jordan aside for a while now, but he's always busy."

"He's learning the fine art of delegation the hard way," the Japanese man noted. "Sooner than later, he'll get over himself and stop trying to play Atlas."

"Atlas?" Jon asked blankly.

"You know, the Titan with the world on his shoulders?"

Jonathan stared at him a long moment before acknowledging that, seeing as he didn't have much else to do. He always forgot the mythology that Heero and Jordan dived into.

...Chance. Chance, not Heero anymore.

Sometimes he felt like the only person who ever slipped on it.

"What do you need him for?" Chance added, studying the man.

"I...owe him money?" Jon offered.

Chance guffawed at that.

"No, really, last year...when he got shot, I was supposed to give him four." He bent down his index finger instead of his thumb to show the number, wondering if the man would repeat it. Chance wasn't stupid by any means, but the gesture was one Jordan had used when saying Xane Featihl's name the last time they'd really talked. Mouthy, as he was called, had contacted Jon with a request, and Jon wanted to know what he was supposed to do about it.

Unfortunately, Jordan wasn't feeling so cooperative.

"Four?" Chance mimicked the gestured, then shook his head. "You're weird...I'll let him know. He'll probably call you tonight...with interest, that four should be...healthier."

"Plenty healthy," Jon agreed wryly, rolling his eyes. After the ‘who are you and why the fuck are you calling me at three-thirty in the morning' moment had passed, Mouthy had been bouncing off the walls. He had been in some dive apartment in an entirely different country, explaining that he'd gotten up and had breakfast before calling, and apologizing that it had been so late.

"Tired?" Chance asked, tilting his head. It had taken him repeating the gesture before he realized it was Jor-sign for Xane. Jordan had several gestures like that which you'd have to be watching consistently to pick up on. The man talked with his hands, in more ways than one.

"No, hyper as fuck," Jon retorted irritably, sarcastically. Anyone who overheard the comment would think he was just being sarcastic.

"My bad," Chance noted, making a dismissive gesture that also indicated understanding. "I have to get out of here."

"Fine...what do you think, should I pay up?"

Pay up?

Chance considered everything his friend had talked about before considering Mouthy's mission. He didn't know what Xane would be needing money for, but...

"Probably, he might get pissed if you don't."

"I thought so, too," Jon mused, scratching his chin. "But I have no idea if he'd accept it."

"Aye," Heero agreed nodding a bit. "Better safe'n sorry, and if it comes down to it, I won't leave you hanging."

Jon's eyes flashed happily, and he nodded. "I'm goin' back to the bar," he noted. "Have Jor call my vid, I miss looking at him."

Chance snorted at that as the man turned and walked off. As a trust for his friends, Jon only brought one of his body-guards with him into the mission building. That man, no matter who he was, would be standing near the door while Jon ran around doing whatever he needed to. It might seem like a token gesture to some, but Chance and the others understood it fully. Jon'd had three attempted assassinations on him since he'd been accused of trying to assassinate Zechs Marquise. He owned more than half of Angels, the slums of a city called Remington. He said he "allowed" Jordan to operate the mission from his own good graces, but Chance knew that he was more apt to avoid confrontation of forces. The poverty-ridden populace of the lower city would not be able to stand against the military. Jon might have illegal arms coming out his ears, but those weapons would be second-class and who knew how much actual ammo he could get while the military had top-of-the-line merchandise and unlimited supplies.

Of course, Jon's illegal operations had narrowed considerably since he'd realized that Jordan Maxwell, an attractive and skilled man with no evident ties to anything, was actually Duo Maxwell...an attractive and skilled man who'd saved the world and was probably in the top twenty of the richest people on the planet.

Actually, Jor had a pretty penny, but it wasn't anything overly excessive, and since they'd all taken a pay-cut the year before to up the rate for the soldiers, it wasn't building as fast as it had been...

All of the attempts on Jon had been attempted by other mafia sects trying to win over lower Angels.

The Japanese man shook his head and moved back into his own office, gathering up his jacket. He wasn't entirely sure Mouthy's mission wasn't, in part, Jordan getting back at a man who'd tried to kill his friend. Jor had been muttering something about an organized crime racket coming out of Chile and trying to pry a corner from Jon's grasp. Jon himself didn't seem to care too much about it, but it worried the others. They all knew that Jon's revenge might include his own assassinations...or just torching someone's house. The question was, of course, if the fire department could get down there before all of lower Angels burned to so many ashes.

Shinyue, the most beautiful woman alive...in his opinion...was waiting for him. He pulled his jacket on and locked his office. His fiancé had decided not to move in with him until he had a place of his own. She didn't really like the end-wing that'd been cordoned off for he and the other three pilots. That had happened before Jordan had come back, and since then Quatre had moved into Jor's place.

Quatre was off the Prozac.

The change in their friend over the past year was brilliant. As an empath, Quatre was exposed to how each and every person he came across felt. No matter how much pain, anguish, or happiness, Quatre felt it. No matter how low or high, Quatre felt it. It'd done more than just upset him. He'd been clinically depressed for a few years, because the quietings, or people who could block it all out, were few and hard to come by. Not only that, but the set up of the M building, the empath building, with so many empaths who needed that quieting, bothered more than a few people.

Chai was a new breed of quieting. Chai could decide to do it for one. If she was overwrought she couldn't control it. The former pilots weren't entirely sure it wasn't something anyone could pick up on. She said she focused on making him feel better, and it made him feel better.

Chance moved out the front doors of the mission to a few calls good night. It was going on seven, and he knew his fiancé and her little boy were waiting.

Zachary, also known as Chip, was Shin's son from someone else. Chance had asked once, and she'd muttered distantly about a few things, and he'd decided it best to leave it at that. Of course, initially, he'd been making a horrible mess of the relationship in general. He had been trying his damnedest, but he didn't understand the girls who grew up in Angels. He didn't understand how she saw things, and what things would be considered beyond forgiveness. Jordan, though, Jordan had lived...almost thrived in Angels with his new wife. He knew how to act and react to anything anyone in the lower city would throw at him. He'd waltzed into Shin's house and almost instantly won her over.

Of course, the outcome of that had gone somewhat downhill when Chance'd been "grounded," meaning his base-leave was denied him for the weekends. Chip had gotten sick, and that had prompted Shin to call him for help when he couldn't offer it–not that he'd known it since his friends had this lovely habit of stealing his phone for a laugh when they decided it'd be worth their time to do it.

Anyway, Chance slid into his rig happily, starting the engine. He was engaged to a woman he loved very much, he had Jordan back...his friends were happy.

He knew it wouldn't last long, but he definitely intended to treasure it while he had the chance.

- -

E/N: So...I finally started this story. It's taking place a year after the first...and I note the date, place, and time so you can tell who is where. I'm time-zone jumping a bit in this one. Also, the base that the characters are working out of is in Inado California...which is a place I made up, just like Angels and Reimington. Aside from that, I don't own Gundam Wing...normal disclaimers apply.