Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the City at Night ❯ Blades and Binds ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Blades and Binds

Heero grinned Terry Shifton as the man entered the small lunchroom. He sliced another piece of his apple and took a bite of it as the slightly perturbed looking official moved to pour himself some coffee. The sight wouldn't have been so disturbing if the particular knife Heero was holding wasn't an old fashioned hunting knife with a serrated edge and a cruel looking hook—the metal even looked slightly stained by blood.

Shifton gave the soldier a curious look, then indicated the weapon as he sipped at his cup, "That's a serious blade you've got there."

"Yes sir," Heero agreed, slicing off another bit. "Sharp, too."

"Hunting, isn't it? Odd for a soldier to have, in my opinion." The man took another drink, trying to decide why a soldier would be in the room.

"Oh, I don't use it anymore," Heero returned. "I carry it because it was a gift from a dear friend many years ago."

"Anymore?"

Heero grinned impishly at him, "I'm a soldier, sir. I do what I have to do."

"Why are you here, soldier?"

"Guard duty," Heero shrugged. "Marquise is ill at ease with so many people."

"Where is he?" the man's eyes suddenly turned interested.

The ex-pilot studied him seriously a long moment, then gestured with his head toward the bathroom. "Busy."

"Ah," Shifton's expression turned considerate. "If I ordered you to do something for me, you'd have to do it, right?"

"No sir," Heero replied. "I'm to stick like glue to the side of Marquise—he doesn't need me to shake it for him, though, so I'm just sittin' pretty."

"But we're above you," Shifton protested.

"Only when I let you," Heero said quietly, hesitating with his knife in focus near the apple. "I might add that my rank is nothing to ignore. I call you sir from polite expectance. If I ordered you around, you'd have to obey me."

The man narrowed his eyes.

The bathroom door opened and Zechs moved slowly from the room, leaning heavily against his walking-staff.

"Mr. Marquise!" Shifton exclaimed in mock surprise. "I'm so happy to see you on your feet again!"

"It hurts," Zechs returned tiredly, moving to sit next to Heero—the soldier was sitting on a counter with his feet in a chair. "What do we have left to do today, Yuy?"

Shifton froze.

"We need to meet with the Persian ambassador and that group of frops, then a luncheon with Javier Bard." Heero considered the information a moment, "After that we'll head to the hospital again, and then you can vegetate at home."

Zechs sighed heavily.

"It's not as bad as it seems right now," the soldier reassured him genuinely, "Just let the pain meds sink in and you'll be all right again."

"I'm tired, Heero," Zechs returned earnestly. "I can do the luncheon, but the Persians..."

"Want me to make your excuses, then?"

Zechs nodded slowly.

Heero nodded and stood, moving from the room. He gestured down the hall at Wufei, then turned and started for the offices of the various ambassadors.

"You're lucky to be alive," Shifton noted to the man third in the line of power. He sipped more at his cup as he studied the wan looking official. "How did you survive?"

Zechs shrugged, unaware of the information Heero had gleaned from Chai. "The man who attempted to kill me was interrupted mid-shot."

"Oh? That's lucky," Shifton moved closer to him. "How?"

"I was closer," Wufei replied evenly as he moved into the room to take Heero's place. He smiled viciously at the man, who hesitated. "The poor assassin was gibbering when I shoved the muzzle of my weapon between his lips."

"Chang, please," Zechs muttered. "I wouldn't care if you'd stopped him from shooting me, but since you didn't..."

"I wasn't that close," Wufei protested. "You'd think you'd be more grateful that I didn't let him kill you."

Zechs gave him a long-suffering look.

Wufei grinned a bit, moving to sit in Heero's chair, "So what's going on?"

"Yuy is making my excuses to the Persian ambassador and we're going to head to the hospital early. I want to have lunch with Bard and head home for the night."

"You're the one who insisted you could work," Wufei noted, raising an eyebrow. "If you cancel too many of these appointments, they'll put you back in the hospital and make you stay there until you go insane."

The white-blond male gave the Chinese male a look that suggested eminent pain.

The dark haired soldier moved prudently out of arm's reach before looking to Shifton.

"I hope you feel better soon, Mr. Marquise," Shifton muttered, turning for the door. "I have my own work to do...maybe I'll come visit you after lunch."

"That would be wonderful," Zechs agreed tiredly—only slightly sarcastic.

Shifton disappeared from the room.

X x X x X

Jordan pulled the duffel bag over his shoulder, having verified the full volume of vrit Jon had informed him should be present. He passed the man the money with the guy still openly in his hand, then stepped back to wait for the rest of the ritual.

The man counted the money, then nodded. He turned his back to Jor, digging out several more bags of the drug. It was a sign of trust, and Jordan was startled by it. He accepted the remaining bags and tucked them into his duffel, then took a few steps backwards. He decided that the gesture of trust should be returned, and turned his back on the man as he walked wordlessly back down the alley. He could hear muttering over his head, but he didn't acknowledge it.

Four grand for gathering a duffel full of a highly addicting and illegal substance. Four grand for delivering it to a warehouse...there had to be more danger involved. Even trying to help Jordan out, there was no call for that much of pad.

When someone followed him, he realized why the gesture of trust had been made, and why Jon had really tripled the fee.

Jordan had been desperate for somewhere to hide when he'd left the military compound. He'd wandered aimlessly before finding the dives he'd later call home. Chai had initially just been a temporary bed interest before he'd realized she was pregnant and left her alone. A week later, he'd found her unconscious several blocks from a bar—and she'd been bleeding. He'd saved her life, and realized that she was ill equipped to take care of herself. She'd fallen hard into depression after losing the child, for all that it had really saved her life, and she was only just recovered from that. She was still obviously guilty about the money Jordan had put up for her operations and care, but at least she'd gotten to a place where she wasn't subservient...

The ex-soldier had no intentions of leaving her to her own devices again. Her family thrived in the conditions of the dives, but she herself had been wilting. They hadn't wanted anything to do with her, and that had broken her spirit.

If he died, she'd be forced back to their home, or worse, into a brothel. Maybe the brothel would be the better choice.

Of course, with all the new clothing she had, she might be able to sell it off and get herself out of the area, but she probably wouldn't have thought of that on her own. She didn't realize how Streak Red clothes were prized, she just knew the fashion of the upper class was drawn from the store...and craved by the lower class.

Maybe she'd sell some of it off...

No. No. Jordan shook his head to himself as he turned down another alley and jumped up a fire escape ladder. He wouldn't ask her to part with the first true gifts she'd ever been given. There were no strings attached to those cloths, no promise of sex or want of drugs...nothing was tagged to those outfits. They were the good will of good people, and Jor refused to let himself consider talking her into selling them.

If he lived through this delivery, he'd have four grand.

He suddenly felt much less guilty for stealing two bags while the people were distracted.

"Where the fuck is he going?" someone hissed from below.

"Just follow him," a woman snapped. "He took two more bags when dumb-ass wasn't looking. We just need to take him out and we'll be fine."

"What if this is the warehouse?"

"Breer's not going to put his place of violence near possible civilian casualties."

Civilian casualties? Was this perhaps another soldier? Was that the real reason Jon had put him on the job? If Jon had known the exchange was a set-up, why hadn't he mentioned it?

The answer to that, however, was an obvious one. Jordan himself expected set-ups no matter what was happening, and had averted several financial disasters for the man he considered a friend—if only fair-weather.

So...that meant it was time to do a bit of constructive life-saving, didn't it?

Jordan pulled his two guns and faced the escape as he heard movement on it—he had better things to do.

X x X x X

The female was crying.

Heero frowned at his phone as he tried to figure out who it was...there was another woman's voice in the background a pause, then the crying woman faded off slightly.

"Excuse me, is this Erin?" the woman asked.

"Yes...who may I ask is calling?" Heero tapped his pencil on the pad of paper in front of him.

"My name is Becky," the woman returned. "I'm a nurse at St. Angel's hospital in Remington. I'm afraid Jordan has been shot and wounded."

Heero's heart stopped, "Oh my god...is it fatal?"

"No, it's not fatal," the woman reassured him quickly. "Actually, it's a leg wound. He was in Angels...low quarters, if you take my meaning. I haven't heard what happened, but it seems that he got mugged."

The soldier was staring in semi-horror at Wufei, who was giving him a confused look.

"We...can't operate on him, though, Sir. He has no insurance and we have no funds. If the operation is put off too much longer, we may have to amputate his lower leg."

"So you need me to pay?" Heero asked, amused that anyone would have thought of him for that. Actually, it spoke very bluntly of D...Jordan's thought processing, even the fact that his cell number was known.

It actually made him feel a bit better about the entire ordeal.

"Yes...I take it you're good friends with Jordan?"

"We were best friends as children," Heero noted in amusement, sitting back, relieved. "I'll be to the hospital in about an hour. Do the operation, you have my word that it'll be paid."

"We can't do that, Sir...not without some sort of verification of fees."

"My name is Heero Yuy," Heero returned evenly. "The number for my card is Sphere, ten-nine-five-four-nine. You get that?"

The woman was obviously amazed.

"Ma'am, my friend's leg is needed, the operation needs to be done."

"What happened?" Wufei hissed at him.

"Right away, sir," she breathed—Heero could hear typing.

"Can you give me anymore details?"

"I'm sorry," she returned. "We were only able to get the information we gave you. I'm sure Jordan will explain it when you arrive here."

"All right," Heero muttered, "Thank you." The conversation concluded slowly, and Heero finally shut his phone, focusing on Wufei in mild disbelief. "He got shot."

"What?" Wufei demanded, disbelieving.

"Jordan was doing something in the slums and got mugged," Heero retorted in amusement. "He has no insurance, so they couldn't operate—they'd almost had to amputate his leg."

"Dear god," Wufei hissed.

"So yeah, get Quatre and Tro down here...or someone. I'm heading to Remington."

"He lives in Angels," Wufei protested.

Heero snorted, "He's in Remington, though, so go figure. Are you coming?"

"I'll set up the replacements," Wufei noted, indicating Zechs' house. "You go ahead."