Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Knowing ❯ Chapter 1
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Calic0cat 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): / Romance / Police / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.19.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 683 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): / Romance / Police / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.19.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 683 | Status: Completed
*****************************
Title: Knowing
Author: Calic0cat <calic0cat@fastmail.fm>
Beta: Sunhawk
Story Completed: November 12, 2003
Genre: Yaoi, Friendship, Romance, Action/Ops
Pairing: 1x2
Rated: R
Warnings: OOC, Swearing, Lime/Implied Lemon
Archives: Eventually at Lev's Lair http://www.gwaddiction.com/levlair/ and at http://calic0cat.freeservers.com/ (my site) and at Mediaminer.org under Calic0cat. Also at Moments of Rapture http://zerotwofan.com/rapture/ under the Fall 2003 Contest. Anyone else - please ask.
Disclaimer: Duo and Heero and the rest of the GW gang aren't mine. This story is. Nuff said.
Notes: Post Endless Waltz. Duo POV.
'Thinking'
"Speaking"
*** Time passing or scene change
Author's Notes: Thanks go out to Sunhawk for beta-ing this for me. This was written for the Moments of Rapture Fall 2003 "Fic for a Pic" contest. Feedback is appreciated.
#################################################
Working at the scrapyard with Hilde had been a godsend right after the war. A chance to rest my battle-weary mind and body and try to figure out where the hell I fit into this thing called peace. Maybe I didn't get too damn much actually figured out and the job itself wasn't exactly a thrill a minute intellectually *or* physically but at least *I* didn't go looking for a way to restart the goddamned war, unlike a certain other individual. I don't know what the hell Chang was thinking but then I'm not entirely sure that *he* knows himself. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all; he always was a bit hotheaded.
But after being back in action during that little conflict, I just couldn't seem to settle back into the routine of daily life. Where before I had been content to just drift from day to day sorting scrap and salvaging parts, now I was restless. Discontented. Something had changed. Whether it had been the fighting itself or simply being back in contact with the other pilots, back partnering Heero, back piloting, or something else entirely, I didn't fit in there anymore. The job at the scrapyard was like wearing a pair of outgrown shoes; it pinched and rubbed and made me irritable and miserable as hell.
When Heero came to L2 and asked me to join the Preventers with him, it seemed like a damn good idea. The solution to the lost, restless feeling that had been plaguing me. I would be back in action, putting all of my hard-earned skills to good use, and partnering my best friend. I never even hesitated over my answer. It was "When do we leave?" and, while I'd like to say that I felt bad about moving out of the apartment that Hilde and I had shared, I have to admit that I never felt so much as a twinge of regret. Not for leaving the apartment - the only place that I could remember living as long as I had at the church - nor for leaving behind Hilde. She was a friend, yes - but Heero was my best friend. My partner. My friendship with Hilde was a frail wisp of a connection compared to the strength of the ties between Heero and me.
If the Preventers - or at least a few at the top - hadn't wanted Heero so damn bad, joining up would have been a hell of a lot harder. As it was, they let us test out of all of the physical training and most of the classroom stuff too. Une even signed off on an exemption for my hair; she wanted Heero in the Preventers, he refused to accept anyone but me as his partner, and I refused to cut my hair.
In retrospect, all of those exceptions that were made for us may not have been a good thing. Maybe they were to blame for all the resentment we faced. Maybe if we'd gone through the tedium of the training academy, started out as cadets and worked our way up instead of starting off as officers, maybe if I'd cut my hair to the regulation length, maybe then we would have been able to overcome the suspicion and resentment and outright hatred.
Or maybe things would have been just as bad.
Why any of us had expected soldiers and officers of the former Alliance, Oz, Romefeller, White Fang, and even Mariemaia's army, to welcome former Gundam pilots into their ranks, I don't know. But we did. Not just Heero and I, but Une and Sally and the others who had wanted our expertise under their command. We'd expected people who'd lost friends, comrades, commanders, soldiers under their command, to accept if not welcome those responsible for their losses.
We were wrong.
***
"Oh *crap*. Not *again*..." I groaned, surveying the flat tire on my car. The *second* flat tire *this month*. The sixth within less than six months. And that was just on *my* car; Heero had had his sixth flat last week. I'd known it was my turn again but hadn't expected it quite this soon. An acceleration in frequency of harassment was *not* a good sign.
I pulled out my phone and called Heero; he was in the office redoing some paperwork that had mysteriously gone missing.
"Preventers. Yuy speaking."
"Heero, sorry but I'll have to take your car or I'll be late for the interview. Mine's got a flat again."
"Damn." Depressingly, his voice was more resigned than anything else. He sighed, then said, "Go ahead, I'll try to get one of the mechanics to take care of it before I have to leave."
I couldn't help a cynical snort in response. I knew damn well that they would all be much, much too busy with *far* more important things than taking care of the tire on a personal vehicle even if said personal vehicle was the one used for work by a Preventer Captain. 'At least as long as said Captain is a former Gundam pilot...'
"Good luck," I muttered as I walked over to Heero's car. I was very glad that we'd driven in separately today. The man I was supposed to be interviewing was leaving the planet on business later this afternoon and would be gone for several weeks. If I was late, I'd miss the chance to interview him and that could severely delay our investigation into one of his contractors. "If I get back early enough, I'll change it myself," I promised. "Or if I'm late and you don't mind waiting, I'll still change it. My car, my flat tire, my... Oh *shit*."
"Your 'oh *shit*'? What's wrong?"
I swallowed hard and stared disbelievingly at Heero's car. "Heero, you'd better come down here. *Now.* I'll wait till you get here but it looks like I'll be taking a cab..."
There was a startled grunt of acknowledgement before the phone went dead. I folded it up and stuck it back in my pocket as I walked slowly around Heero's car, surveying the damage. It was pretty bad. Not only had it been keyed all the way down *both* sides, the tires had been actually *slashed* this time.
All four of them.
I winced at the words gouged into the paint of the trunk. The harassment had *definitely* escalated. "Terrorist", "killer", and "fucking murdering Gundam pilot" were the *nicer* of the things that had been written there. Shock, dismay, and anger were all struggling for dominance right now and plain old "pissed off" was starting to win. 'I will *not* lose my temper, I will *not* lose my temper,' I recited silently. The damage was done; I would not give those behind it the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool.
"Oh *shit*..." Heero had arrived and was staring at his car in horrified fascination. Of course, to anyone else he would just look like his normal stoic self but then no one else knew how to read him the way that I did.
"Yeah," I agreed abruptly. "Sorry to leave reporting this to you, buddy, but if I don't leave *now*, I'll be late." 'Which might very well be the whole reason that *both* cars got hit today...'
"You're right. Go. It'll take forever to get Forensics down here," Heero said flatly. "You don't have time for that."
"Call if you need me," I told him needlessly. I squeezed his arm supportively as I headed past him towards the elevator. Leaving him to handle this mess on his own made me feel lower than pondscum but I could *not* miss this interview appointment. And it wasn't as if reporting the vandalism would do any good. Despite the security cameras in the Preventers' parking garage, I knew damn well that there would be no real evidence found either on the security recordings or from an examination of the scene by Forensics.
Not when the odds were very, very good that the perpetrators were fellow Preventers.
***
"The recording media for the security cameras was faulty; today's footage is completely unrecoverable," Heero told me bluntly.
I flopped down on the couch and muttered sarcastically, "Oh gosh, what a surprise. And don't tell me - let me guess - there were no fingerprints other than ours on the cars and Forensics couldn't find any evidence that might lead back to the perps, right?"
Heero nodded silently.
"So why are both our cars still in Impound?" I asked. "Just for the hell of it? Or is Forensics actually going to take a second look?" I wasn't surprised that Heero had insisted on waiting until we got home to fill me in on things but I *had* been perturbed to discover that we'd have to take a cab to get there.
"Because I pulled rank and spoke to Commander Une herself about this," Heero said with a grimace. "Ignoring the harassment hasn't helped. And the issue of the security cameras is too big to let pass. She's ordered a full investigation."
"Not that it'll do any damn good," I muttered bitterly.
The harassment had started right after we began working for the Preventers. At first, it had been pretty minor stuff. Petty. People "accidentally" spilling coffee on us or on our paperwork. Paperwork going missing. Requisitions for office supplies not being filled. Whispered slurs and insults that we were intended to "overhear".
We'd followed procedure. Reported the incidents through the proper channels. And for what?
For a fucking *memo* reminding everyone that "we're all on the same side now". Gee, *thanks*, Commander. That was just *oh* so helpful. Regulation, yes, but helpful? Not particularly.
Oh, there was a temporary lull in the anti-Gundam-pilot campaign at the office. Instead, we'd taken a lot of digs for being "oversensitive babies" and not being "good sports" about a little "good-natured teasing". Uh huh. Sure, guys. Whatever you say.
A few weeks had gone by, then the harassment had started all over again. Though we'd dismissed the first flat tire initially. It was only when I'd ended up with a flat as well before the month was out that we had started to question that first one of Heero's. When we'd each had our second flat, we'd reported it. Again.
But there was no way to prove that any of that had happened in the Preventers' parking garage. They were slow leaks and the tires could have been damaged anywhere. This time, though, there was no denying the facts. Heero's car had been vandalized at work. In a supposedly secure location.
I couldn't help wondering what would happen next. From one flat tire to four slashed ones and a scratched-up paint job - complete with words sufficient to change the situation from "vandalism" to "hate crime" - was one hell of a fast escalation of hostilities.
It wasn't as if *everyone* at Preventers hated or resented us. There were plenty of people, agents and support staff alike, who got along just fine with us. Though even then, it was hard to be sure that they weren't just pretending. There was enough hostility around that we were both a bit - paranoid lately.
I wondered whether Chang had had things quite so rough. He and Sally Po had quit the Preventers shortly after Heero and I joined. They had been asked to spearhead the L5 revitalization project and had jumped at the chance. While he *was* in the Preventers, though, Chang had been paired up with Po who was ex-Alliance and he of course had been in Mariemaia's army, so he might not have had to face such universal resentment. It was hard to guess how much of a role harassment had played in his decision to leave. Though the last time that I'd seen them in a televised press conference for the project, they'd admitted their engagement when questioned about the ring on Sally's finger, so the Preventers' fraternization policy might have played an even bigger role.
Heero and I really hadn't kept very closely in touch with any of the others. Quatre and Trowa were both trying very hard to put their soldier lives behind them. The last that I'd heard, Trowa had left the circus to work as Quatre's personal assistant. Sort of a bodyguard-slash-secretary, I guess. And Quatre himself was very busy with Winner Enterprises, particularly the portions of it involved in postwar reconstruction.
It wasn't that we didn't get along with the other Gundam pilots, we just all had our own lives and there was very little common ground between us. Maybe someday we'd all reconnect but for the time being, none of us seemed to have much interest in doing so.
Regardless of the others, Heero and I had each other, and thank god for that. Our friendship was pretty much the only positive thing we had going for us right now. And without our partnership, working for Preventers would be - difficult. There wasn't really anyone there that I would trust at my back. If I could count on their ability to do the job, I couldn't count on their loyalty, and vice versa.
Yet neither of us wanted to quit. As an organization, the Preventers filled an important role. Weapons smuggling and sales, narcotics smuggling and sales, anything illegal that crossed governmental borders or potentially involved multiple law enforcement agencies, all that fell under the jurisdiction of Preventers. And the agency did a good job of handling it. Despite occasional infighting between the former members of Oz and Romefeller, between those of Oz and White Fang, between those of White Fang and Romefeller, between those of the *Alliance* and Oz, and so on. The very fact that every group had both former enemies and former allies - and those various alliances and enmities were convoluted and tangled - working with them kept things from getting out of hand. But in one thing, all of those groups were united. That one thing - their enmity towards the former Gundam pilots.
Because the Gundam pilots were never part of *any* of those groups. And we fought against every last one of them. Fought against them - and survived while their troops did not.
We had coworkers who had sent troops into battle against Gundams with odds overwhelmingly in their favour only to be defeated. Humiliated by teenage kids. Was it really so surprising that they resented us?
No. Not really.
Especially not when the blame for so many deaths was heaped on our shoulders as well. Deaths of soldiers. Of military support staff - janitors, technicians, maintenance workers, mechanics. Deaths of civilians caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Rather than blaming the nameless, faceless multitudes of their other enemies, each of the groups found it easier to blame the names and faces that they *knew*. Heero Yuy, Gundam Pilot 01, and his partner, Duo Maxwell, Gundam Pilot 02.
So they blamed us and they resented us and they harassed us, and we gritted our teeth and ignored them and kept doing our jobs and hoped that someday they'd ignore us back.
And if sometimes a waitress at a restaurant or a sales clerk at a store would give us an ugly look and refuse to wait on us, it wasn't anything new. Or if a witness would refuse to talk to one of us and insist that someone else be sent to interview him, that wasn't new either.
And if sometimes we got a little pissed off at the whole damn universe and needed to let off some steam before we exploded - well, that was why one tiny bedroom was crowded by two narrow beds and the other "bedroom", small though it was for the purpose, was well-equipped with mats for sparring and other workout equipment. We never really cut loose in the Preventers' gym; neither of us was comfortable fighting all-out in public.
Some things were meant to be a surprise. Preferably a damn *nasty* one.
"I need to let off some steam," I stated abruptly, bouncing up from the couch. We'd both been sitting here brooding too damn long.
"Barehanded?" Heero suggested, rising from his chair.
"Bos?" I countered. There was something distinctly satisfying about the solid thwack of two bos connecting.
A feral grin was all the answer I needed.
***
Several weeks passed. The workout room at the apartment was in use virtually every night. It wasn't unusual for Heero and I to end up a little stiff and sore and sporting a few honestly-earned bruises. We were stressed out, pissed off, and thoroughly frustrated. Even the successful wrap-up of several cases wasn't enough to improve our mood for long.
The investigation into the vandalism of Heero's car and the flat tire on mine went nowhere, as expected. The small office that Heero and I shared was thoroughly trashed when we arrived for work one morning - file cabinets emptied all over the floor and the few personal items from our desks broken - and that investigation was equally fruitless. The only tiny speck of progress made came about when my car was, inevitably, again a target. Heero and I had privately - supplemented - the security equipment in the garage by mounting our own monitoring equipment on our vehicles. The footage was useless; whoever did the vandalism had been carrying an electronic scrambler, which wasn't really much of a surprise. But the spray paint cans were discarded inside the office building and that was enough evidence of an inside job to land the whole thing in the hands of Internal Affairs.
And then things escalated again.
***
"Shit!" I swore, ducking behind a huge shipping container. Bullets cracked and whined as they ricocheted off the side of the metal box. "Where the *hell* is our goddamned *backup*?!!"
Up on the catwalk on the far side of the hangar, I could see Heero darting from one skimpy bit of cover to another, trying to find a clear shot at the men holding us off while the shuttle prepared for takeoff. We'd been here strictly on reconnaissance - the bust was supposed to go down tomorrow after the buyer arrived to make payment and take possession of the weapons. Unfortunately, either the intelligence was bad or there was more than one buyer because *this* load was shipping out *tonight*.
We'd called for backup and waited, hoping that they'd arrive before the buyer left; there were too damn many armed guards for the two of us to want to take them on alone. Unfortunately, backup hadn't showed up in time and we'd had to announce our presence in order to try and stop the buyer from leaving. Which led to Heero and I playing dodge-the-bullets. And backup *still* hadn't arrived.
From the catwalk, Heero waved to get my attention. I groaned as I interpreted his hand signals. He wanted to drop one section of the catwalk onto the shuttle, hoping to damage it enough to ground it. Which meant that I was going to have to cross the open space between my current shelter and the nearest access ladder, then climb the damn thing - fortunately at least partially shielded by a support pillar - in order to release this end of the catwalk. This was *not* going to be fun and it was probably going to be damn painful since the odds of making it through this without getting hit at least once by a bullet were very, very slim. The bulletproof vest would protect my torso - though a hit would still hurt, bruise, and probably knock the wind out of me - but that still left arms, legs, and head vulnerable.
I signalled my acceptance with a nod and waited for Heero's signal to go. He gave it and I saw him toss something down towards the shooters as I started to run. Judging by the flicker of flame I'd seen as it fell and the sound of the resultant explosion, he'd found some alcohol or gasoline somewhere and rigged a Molotov cocktail. A fierce grin pulled at my lips as I leapt onto the ladder and started to climb. I'd known Heero must have had *something* in mind to make this feasible; neither of us took chances quite as insane as those we'd taken during the war. We were a little too fond of living for that. He wouldn't ask me to take an unacceptably high risk over one lousy shipment of weapons, regardless of the buyer's presence.
I barely noticed the stinging tug that swept across my thigh. It took a few moments for the pain to hit; I waited until I was off of the ladder before sparing the wound a glance. A graze, nothing more. Barely even bleeding. Certainly not worth the time to bandage right now.
Moving quickly, I loosened the bolts holding the central catwalk section to the one that I was standing on. On the other side of the hangar, I could see Heero doing the same. We finished at the same time and, on Heero's signal, I released the pulley system that was still supporting the central section after it was freed from the outer perimeter. The mass of struts and grating started to drop, then stopped with a jolt, tilting at an angle.
"God *dammit*!!" Part of the pulley system had frozen up. Not down here where I could *do* something about it, but up at ceiling level.
I resisted the temptation to just jump up and down on the damn catwalk and try to get it moving again. I was pissed off and frustrated, not suicidal.
I could see Heero's dark scowl from where I stood. After an instant of thought, he raised his gun and fired at the cable, just where it emerged from the jammed pulley overhead. His first shot missed. The second hit and I could see the cable fray, though not enough to break.
Raising my own weapon, I turned my attention towards the men below. They had been getting bold while Heero and I were directing our attention elsewhere. A shoulder shot knocked one off the ladder up to Heero's side of the catwalk. The gunman who had been heading for my ladder hastily retreated back to the shuttle; I only managed to wing him as he ducked behind cover. Someone else got careless and leaned a little too far into the open in order to take a shot at Heero; judging by his shriek, I suspected my own shot had shattered his hand.
With a final, sharp twang, the cable gave way after another bulletstrike from Heero's gun. The catwalk plummeted down, crashing onto the shuttle before it could make it out through the hangar door. One cockpit window cracked under the impact and a wing-flap bent. The shuttle kept moving, dragging the catwalk with it until it reached the door. The metal encumbrance caught on one side of the doorframe. Metal shrieked in protest. Both the wall and catwalk bent and the shuttle slewed to one side.
I scrambled to get down to floorlevel, aware that Heero was doing the same. The entire hangar was shuddering and vibrating under the stress being applied to it; it was entirely possible that the old, rundown building might start to collapse.
And it did. By the time we made it outside, the continued pressure from the shuttle had buckled the entire end wall. With a torturous, drawn-out shriek and the pop of failing rivets, the wall began to twist and pull away from the side of the building. The hangar started to sag. With the shuttle blocking the hangar door, the truck inside couldn't get out, essentially leaving the suspects on foot, assuming that they finally decided to abandon the trapped shuttle.
Heero went after several of the men who hadn't been on the shuttle as they made a run for it. This time, when he shouted, "Preventers! Freeze and drop your weapons!" they obeyed.
I yanked out the radio and, with almost complete disregard for protocol, snarled into it, "Dispatch. Preventer Shade wants to know what the *fuck* is keeping our backup! Over."
There was a moment of silence, then a cool voice replied, "Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch. I see no record of Preventer Shade calling for backup. Over."
I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood and counted to ten before replying, "Dispatch, the call for backup was placed at precisely 2207 by Preventers Shade and Sky. Request was acknowledged and Dispatch confirmed backup was on the way. It is now 2332 and backup has *not* arrived. Over."
"There is no record of Preventers Shade and Sky calling for backup," the voice repeated. "Is backup required? Over."
Fighting down the urge to scream obscenities at the radio - not only would that not help, it would probably get me severely reprimanded and a suspension to boot - I managed to reply levelly, "Yes. Backup is required at the abandoned Langdon Base, Hangar 2. Along with at least two ambulances for injured suspects, transportation for at least nine prisoners, and we may need the meatwagon too." I strongly suspected that the man I'd picked off of the ladder was dead; he'd fallen a long way and I'd seen no sign of movement after he hit. I added, "Both officers injured and in need of medical attention. Over." Heero's left biceps was bleeding fairly heavily and the wound on my own thigh had opened up more from the exertion. Neither of us was in any immediate danger but we were going to require treatment.
I waited for acknowledgement for several minutes without receiving it. While I waited, I took over three prisoners from Heero. He had used the shoulder straps from their own surrendered rifles to tie their hands but I kept my gun on them anyway. I wasn't taking *anything* for granted at this point. Finally, I called again, "Dispatch, this is Preventer Shade. Is backup on the way or do I need to call the Commander's home number? Over." I was only half bluffing; I'd gone well beyond pissed off and was nicely into icy rage at this point. Backup had been a little slow arriving a few times before but there had always been a legitimate excuse and they *had* always shown up. I'd never even considered it as possibly being related to the harassment problem.
I don't know whether it was my threat to call Commander Une or if it had genuinely taken that long to dispatch backup but the response finally came, "Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch. Backup confirmed. ETA is fifteen minutes. Over."
"Acknowledged. Shade over and out."
The trapped shuttle had finally shut down its engines. No one emerged from it; by unspoken agreement, Heero and I just left its passengers alone. Backup could deal with them; we had our hands full as it was. Heero had caught four of the gunmen, which left two unaccounted for, one of whom was the one who had fallen. He was probably still lying where he fell but we weren't counting on it. Nor were either of us going back inside the sagging, listing hangar to check.
By the time Heero prodded the fourth prisoner - the one with the shattered hand - over to my position, I'd managed to wrestle my temper back under control. This was neither the time nor the place to be discussing the seamier side of internal Preventer politics, personality conflicts, and power struggles. "Dispatch said in fifteen," I said shortly.
Heero scowled, "Chopper or shuttle, then, unless they were enroute."
"Chopper or shuttle," I agreed. It was impossible to make it from HQ to here in less than an hour by car, even under ideal conditions and with a damn good driver.
Heero's scowl darkened at the implications. I inclined my head slightly, my jaw tight with tension. Being on our own during the war had been one thing; being unable to count on backup now was something else entirely. Now, we were supposed to take prisoners, not shoot to kill. During the war, we'd have just blown the damn shuttle full of weapons and been done with the whole mess. Hell, we'd have blown the fucking *hangar*, not screwed around trying to get the assholes to surrender or to at least manage to take them alive.
Partners have to rely on each other. Have to trust each other. Heero and I did. Unconditionally. Our close friendship was an extension of that partnership, one that we both treasured.
But as Preventers, we should have been able to rely on other Preventers. Should have been able to trust our fellow agents on a professional level even if we weren't exactly best buds on a personal level. And we couldn't.
***
Title: Knowing
Author: Calic0cat <calic0cat@fastmail.fm>
Beta: Sunhawk
Story Completed: November 12, 2003
Genre: Yaoi, Friendship, Romance, Action/Ops
Pairing: 1x2
Rated: R
Warnings: OOC, Swearing, Lime/Implied Lemon
Archives: Eventually at Lev's Lair http://www.gwaddiction.com/levlair/ and at http://calic0cat.freeservers.com/ (my site) and at Mediaminer.org under Calic0cat. Also at Moments of Rapture http://zerotwofan.com/rapture/ under the Fall 2003 Contest. Anyone else - please ask.
Disclaimer: Duo and Heero and the rest of the GW gang aren't mine. This story is. Nuff said.
Notes: Post Endless Waltz. Duo POV.
'Thinking'
"Speaking"
*** Time passing or scene change
Author's Notes: Thanks go out to Sunhawk for beta-ing this for me. This was written for the Moments of Rapture Fall 2003 "Fic for a Pic" contest. Feedback is appreciated.
#################################################
Working at the scrapyard with Hilde had been a godsend right after the war. A chance to rest my battle-weary mind and body and try to figure out where the hell I fit into this thing called peace. Maybe I didn't get too damn much actually figured out and the job itself wasn't exactly a thrill a minute intellectually *or* physically but at least *I* didn't go looking for a way to restart the goddamned war, unlike a certain other individual. I don't know what the hell Chang was thinking but then I'm not entirely sure that *he* knows himself. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all; he always was a bit hotheaded.
But after being back in action during that little conflict, I just couldn't seem to settle back into the routine of daily life. Where before I had been content to just drift from day to day sorting scrap and salvaging parts, now I was restless. Discontented. Something had changed. Whether it had been the fighting itself or simply being back in contact with the other pilots, back partnering Heero, back piloting, or something else entirely, I didn't fit in there anymore. The job at the scrapyard was like wearing a pair of outgrown shoes; it pinched and rubbed and made me irritable and miserable as hell.
When Heero came to L2 and asked me to join the Preventers with him, it seemed like a damn good idea. The solution to the lost, restless feeling that had been plaguing me. I would be back in action, putting all of my hard-earned skills to good use, and partnering my best friend. I never even hesitated over my answer. It was "When do we leave?" and, while I'd like to say that I felt bad about moving out of the apartment that Hilde and I had shared, I have to admit that I never felt so much as a twinge of regret. Not for leaving the apartment - the only place that I could remember living as long as I had at the church - nor for leaving behind Hilde. She was a friend, yes - but Heero was my best friend. My partner. My friendship with Hilde was a frail wisp of a connection compared to the strength of the ties between Heero and me.
If the Preventers - or at least a few at the top - hadn't wanted Heero so damn bad, joining up would have been a hell of a lot harder. As it was, they let us test out of all of the physical training and most of the classroom stuff too. Une even signed off on an exemption for my hair; she wanted Heero in the Preventers, he refused to accept anyone but me as his partner, and I refused to cut my hair.
In retrospect, all of those exceptions that were made for us may not have been a good thing. Maybe they were to blame for all the resentment we faced. Maybe if we'd gone through the tedium of the training academy, started out as cadets and worked our way up instead of starting off as officers, maybe if I'd cut my hair to the regulation length, maybe then we would have been able to overcome the suspicion and resentment and outright hatred.
Or maybe things would have been just as bad.
Why any of us had expected soldiers and officers of the former Alliance, Oz, Romefeller, White Fang, and even Mariemaia's army, to welcome former Gundam pilots into their ranks, I don't know. But we did. Not just Heero and I, but Une and Sally and the others who had wanted our expertise under their command. We'd expected people who'd lost friends, comrades, commanders, soldiers under their command, to accept if not welcome those responsible for their losses.
We were wrong.
***
"Oh *crap*. Not *again*..." I groaned, surveying the flat tire on my car. The *second* flat tire *this month*. The sixth within less than six months. And that was just on *my* car; Heero had had his sixth flat last week. I'd known it was my turn again but hadn't expected it quite this soon. An acceleration in frequency of harassment was *not* a good sign.
I pulled out my phone and called Heero; he was in the office redoing some paperwork that had mysteriously gone missing.
"Preventers. Yuy speaking."
"Heero, sorry but I'll have to take your car or I'll be late for the interview. Mine's got a flat again."
"Damn." Depressingly, his voice was more resigned than anything else. He sighed, then said, "Go ahead, I'll try to get one of the mechanics to take care of it before I have to leave."
I couldn't help a cynical snort in response. I knew damn well that they would all be much, much too busy with *far* more important things than taking care of the tire on a personal vehicle even if said personal vehicle was the one used for work by a Preventer Captain. 'At least as long as said Captain is a former Gundam pilot...'
"Good luck," I muttered as I walked over to Heero's car. I was very glad that we'd driven in separately today. The man I was supposed to be interviewing was leaving the planet on business later this afternoon and would be gone for several weeks. If I was late, I'd miss the chance to interview him and that could severely delay our investigation into one of his contractors. "If I get back early enough, I'll change it myself," I promised. "Or if I'm late and you don't mind waiting, I'll still change it. My car, my flat tire, my... Oh *shit*."
"Your 'oh *shit*'? What's wrong?"
I swallowed hard and stared disbelievingly at Heero's car. "Heero, you'd better come down here. *Now.* I'll wait till you get here but it looks like I'll be taking a cab..."
There was a startled grunt of acknowledgement before the phone went dead. I folded it up and stuck it back in my pocket as I walked slowly around Heero's car, surveying the damage. It was pretty bad. Not only had it been keyed all the way down *both* sides, the tires had been actually *slashed* this time.
All four of them.
I winced at the words gouged into the paint of the trunk. The harassment had *definitely* escalated. "Terrorist", "killer", and "fucking murdering Gundam pilot" were the *nicer* of the things that had been written there. Shock, dismay, and anger were all struggling for dominance right now and plain old "pissed off" was starting to win. 'I will *not* lose my temper, I will *not* lose my temper,' I recited silently. The damage was done; I would not give those behind it the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool.
"Oh *shit*..." Heero had arrived and was staring at his car in horrified fascination. Of course, to anyone else he would just look like his normal stoic self but then no one else knew how to read him the way that I did.
"Yeah," I agreed abruptly. "Sorry to leave reporting this to you, buddy, but if I don't leave *now*, I'll be late." 'Which might very well be the whole reason that *both* cars got hit today...'
"You're right. Go. It'll take forever to get Forensics down here," Heero said flatly. "You don't have time for that."
"Call if you need me," I told him needlessly. I squeezed his arm supportively as I headed past him towards the elevator. Leaving him to handle this mess on his own made me feel lower than pondscum but I could *not* miss this interview appointment. And it wasn't as if reporting the vandalism would do any good. Despite the security cameras in the Preventers' parking garage, I knew damn well that there would be no real evidence found either on the security recordings or from an examination of the scene by Forensics.
Not when the odds were very, very good that the perpetrators were fellow Preventers.
***
"The recording media for the security cameras was faulty; today's footage is completely unrecoverable," Heero told me bluntly.
I flopped down on the couch and muttered sarcastically, "Oh gosh, what a surprise. And don't tell me - let me guess - there were no fingerprints other than ours on the cars and Forensics couldn't find any evidence that might lead back to the perps, right?"
Heero nodded silently.
"So why are both our cars still in Impound?" I asked. "Just for the hell of it? Or is Forensics actually going to take a second look?" I wasn't surprised that Heero had insisted on waiting until we got home to fill me in on things but I *had* been perturbed to discover that we'd have to take a cab to get there.
"Because I pulled rank and spoke to Commander Une herself about this," Heero said with a grimace. "Ignoring the harassment hasn't helped. And the issue of the security cameras is too big to let pass. She's ordered a full investigation."
"Not that it'll do any damn good," I muttered bitterly.
The harassment had started right after we began working for the Preventers. At first, it had been pretty minor stuff. Petty. People "accidentally" spilling coffee on us or on our paperwork. Paperwork going missing. Requisitions for office supplies not being filled. Whispered slurs and insults that we were intended to "overhear".
We'd followed procedure. Reported the incidents through the proper channels. And for what?
For a fucking *memo* reminding everyone that "we're all on the same side now". Gee, *thanks*, Commander. That was just *oh* so helpful. Regulation, yes, but helpful? Not particularly.
Oh, there was a temporary lull in the anti-Gundam-pilot campaign at the office. Instead, we'd taken a lot of digs for being "oversensitive babies" and not being "good sports" about a little "good-natured teasing". Uh huh. Sure, guys. Whatever you say.
A few weeks had gone by, then the harassment had started all over again. Though we'd dismissed the first flat tire initially. It was only when I'd ended up with a flat as well before the month was out that we had started to question that first one of Heero's. When we'd each had our second flat, we'd reported it. Again.
But there was no way to prove that any of that had happened in the Preventers' parking garage. They were slow leaks and the tires could have been damaged anywhere. This time, though, there was no denying the facts. Heero's car had been vandalized at work. In a supposedly secure location.
I couldn't help wondering what would happen next. From one flat tire to four slashed ones and a scratched-up paint job - complete with words sufficient to change the situation from "vandalism" to "hate crime" - was one hell of a fast escalation of hostilities.
It wasn't as if *everyone* at Preventers hated or resented us. There were plenty of people, agents and support staff alike, who got along just fine with us. Though even then, it was hard to be sure that they weren't just pretending. There was enough hostility around that we were both a bit - paranoid lately.
I wondered whether Chang had had things quite so rough. He and Sally Po had quit the Preventers shortly after Heero and I joined. They had been asked to spearhead the L5 revitalization project and had jumped at the chance. While he *was* in the Preventers, though, Chang had been paired up with Po who was ex-Alliance and he of course had been in Mariemaia's army, so he might not have had to face such universal resentment. It was hard to guess how much of a role harassment had played in his decision to leave. Though the last time that I'd seen them in a televised press conference for the project, they'd admitted their engagement when questioned about the ring on Sally's finger, so the Preventers' fraternization policy might have played an even bigger role.
Heero and I really hadn't kept very closely in touch with any of the others. Quatre and Trowa were both trying very hard to put their soldier lives behind them. The last that I'd heard, Trowa had left the circus to work as Quatre's personal assistant. Sort of a bodyguard-slash-secretary, I guess. And Quatre himself was very busy with Winner Enterprises, particularly the portions of it involved in postwar reconstruction.
It wasn't that we didn't get along with the other Gundam pilots, we just all had our own lives and there was very little common ground between us. Maybe someday we'd all reconnect but for the time being, none of us seemed to have much interest in doing so.
Regardless of the others, Heero and I had each other, and thank god for that. Our friendship was pretty much the only positive thing we had going for us right now. And without our partnership, working for Preventers would be - difficult. There wasn't really anyone there that I would trust at my back. If I could count on their ability to do the job, I couldn't count on their loyalty, and vice versa.
Yet neither of us wanted to quit. As an organization, the Preventers filled an important role. Weapons smuggling and sales, narcotics smuggling and sales, anything illegal that crossed governmental borders or potentially involved multiple law enforcement agencies, all that fell under the jurisdiction of Preventers. And the agency did a good job of handling it. Despite occasional infighting between the former members of Oz and Romefeller, between those of Oz and White Fang, between those of White Fang and Romefeller, between those of the *Alliance* and Oz, and so on. The very fact that every group had both former enemies and former allies - and those various alliances and enmities were convoluted and tangled - working with them kept things from getting out of hand. But in one thing, all of those groups were united. That one thing - their enmity towards the former Gundam pilots.
Because the Gundam pilots were never part of *any* of those groups. And we fought against every last one of them. Fought against them - and survived while their troops did not.
We had coworkers who had sent troops into battle against Gundams with odds overwhelmingly in their favour only to be defeated. Humiliated by teenage kids. Was it really so surprising that they resented us?
No. Not really.
Especially not when the blame for so many deaths was heaped on our shoulders as well. Deaths of soldiers. Of military support staff - janitors, technicians, maintenance workers, mechanics. Deaths of civilians caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Rather than blaming the nameless, faceless multitudes of their other enemies, each of the groups found it easier to blame the names and faces that they *knew*. Heero Yuy, Gundam Pilot 01, and his partner, Duo Maxwell, Gundam Pilot 02.
So they blamed us and they resented us and they harassed us, and we gritted our teeth and ignored them and kept doing our jobs and hoped that someday they'd ignore us back.
And if sometimes a waitress at a restaurant or a sales clerk at a store would give us an ugly look and refuse to wait on us, it wasn't anything new. Or if a witness would refuse to talk to one of us and insist that someone else be sent to interview him, that wasn't new either.
And if sometimes we got a little pissed off at the whole damn universe and needed to let off some steam before we exploded - well, that was why one tiny bedroom was crowded by two narrow beds and the other "bedroom", small though it was for the purpose, was well-equipped with mats for sparring and other workout equipment. We never really cut loose in the Preventers' gym; neither of us was comfortable fighting all-out in public.
Some things were meant to be a surprise. Preferably a damn *nasty* one.
"I need to let off some steam," I stated abruptly, bouncing up from the couch. We'd both been sitting here brooding too damn long.
"Barehanded?" Heero suggested, rising from his chair.
"Bos?" I countered. There was something distinctly satisfying about the solid thwack of two bos connecting.
A feral grin was all the answer I needed.
***
Several weeks passed. The workout room at the apartment was in use virtually every night. It wasn't unusual for Heero and I to end up a little stiff and sore and sporting a few honestly-earned bruises. We were stressed out, pissed off, and thoroughly frustrated. Even the successful wrap-up of several cases wasn't enough to improve our mood for long.
The investigation into the vandalism of Heero's car and the flat tire on mine went nowhere, as expected. The small office that Heero and I shared was thoroughly trashed when we arrived for work one morning - file cabinets emptied all over the floor and the few personal items from our desks broken - and that investigation was equally fruitless. The only tiny speck of progress made came about when my car was, inevitably, again a target. Heero and I had privately - supplemented - the security equipment in the garage by mounting our own monitoring equipment on our vehicles. The footage was useless; whoever did the vandalism had been carrying an electronic scrambler, which wasn't really much of a surprise. But the spray paint cans were discarded inside the office building and that was enough evidence of an inside job to land the whole thing in the hands of Internal Affairs.
And then things escalated again.
***
"Shit!" I swore, ducking behind a huge shipping container. Bullets cracked and whined as they ricocheted off the side of the metal box. "Where the *hell* is our goddamned *backup*?!!"
Up on the catwalk on the far side of the hangar, I could see Heero darting from one skimpy bit of cover to another, trying to find a clear shot at the men holding us off while the shuttle prepared for takeoff. We'd been here strictly on reconnaissance - the bust was supposed to go down tomorrow after the buyer arrived to make payment and take possession of the weapons. Unfortunately, either the intelligence was bad or there was more than one buyer because *this* load was shipping out *tonight*.
We'd called for backup and waited, hoping that they'd arrive before the buyer left; there were too damn many armed guards for the two of us to want to take them on alone. Unfortunately, backup hadn't showed up in time and we'd had to announce our presence in order to try and stop the buyer from leaving. Which led to Heero and I playing dodge-the-bullets. And backup *still* hadn't arrived.
From the catwalk, Heero waved to get my attention. I groaned as I interpreted his hand signals. He wanted to drop one section of the catwalk onto the shuttle, hoping to damage it enough to ground it. Which meant that I was going to have to cross the open space between my current shelter and the nearest access ladder, then climb the damn thing - fortunately at least partially shielded by a support pillar - in order to release this end of the catwalk. This was *not* going to be fun and it was probably going to be damn painful since the odds of making it through this without getting hit at least once by a bullet were very, very slim. The bulletproof vest would protect my torso - though a hit would still hurt, bruise, and probably knock the wind out of me - but that still left arms, legs, and head vulnerable.
I signalled my acceptance with a nod and waited for Heero's signal to go. He gave it and I saw him toss something down towards the shooters as I started to run. Judging by the flicker of flame I'd seen as it fell and the sound of the resultant explosion, he'd found some alcohol or gasoline somewhere and rigged a Molotov cocktail. A fierce grin pulled at my lips as I leapt onto the ladder and started to climb. I'd known Heero must have had *something* in mind to make this feasible; neither of us took chances quite as insane as those we'd taken during the war. We were a little too fond of living for that. He wouldn't ask me to take an unacceptably high risk over one lousy shipment of weapons, regardless of the buyer's presence.
I barely noticed the stinging tug that swept across my thigh. It took a few moments for the pain to hit; I waited until I was off of the ladder before sparing the wound a glance. A graze, nothing more. Barely even bleeding. Certainly not worth the time to bandage right now.
Moving quickly, I loosened the bolts holding the central catwalk section to the one that I was standing on. On the other side of the hangar, I could see Heero doing the same. We finished at the same time and, on Heero's signal, I released the pulley system that was still supporting the central section after it was freed from the outer perimeter. The mass of struts and grating started to drop, then stopped with a jolt, tilting at an angle.
"God *dammit*!!" Part of the pulley system had frozen up. Not down here where I could *do* something about it, but up at ceiling level.
I resisted the temptation to just jump up and down on the damn catwalk and try to get it moving again. I was pissed off and frustrated, not suicidal.
I could see Heero's dark scowl from where I stood. After an instant of thought, he raised his gun and fired at the cable, just where it emerged from the jammed pulley overhead. His first shot missed. The second hit and I could see the cable fray, though not enough to break.
Raising my own weapon, I turned my attention towards the men below. They had been getting bold while Heero and I were directing our attention elsewhere. A shoulder shot knocked one off the ladder up to Heero's side of the catwalk. The gunman who had been heading for my ladder hastily retreated back to the shuttle; I only managed to wing him as he ducked behind cover. Someone else got careless and leaned a little too far into the open in order to take a shot at Heero; judging by his shriek, I suspected my own shot had shattered his hand.
With a final, sharp twang, the cable gave way after another bulletstrike from Heero's gun. The catwalk plummeted down, crashing onto the shuttle before it could make it out through the hangar door. One cockpit window cracked under the impact and a wing-flap bent. The shuttle kept moving, dragging the catwalk with it until it reached the door. The metal encumbrance caught on one side of the doorframe. Metal shrieked in protest. Both the wall and catwalk bent and the shuttle slewed to one side.
I scrambled to get down to floorlevel, aware that Heero was doing the same. The entire hangar was shuddering and vibrating under the stress being applied to it; it was entirely possible that the old, rundown building might start to collapse.
And it did. By the time we made it outside, the continued pressure from the shuttle had buckled the entire end wall. With a torturous, drawn-out shriek and the pop of failing rivets, the wall began to twist and pull away from the side of the building. The hangar started to sag. With the shuttle blocking the hangar door, the truck inside couldn't get out, essentially leaving the suspects on foot, assuming that they finally decided to abandon the trapped shuttle.
Heero went after several of the men who hadn't been on the shuttle as they made a run for it. This time, when he shouted, "Preventers! Freeze and drop your weapons!" they obeyed.
I yanked out the radio and, with almost complete disregard for protocol, snarled into it, "Dispatch. Preventer Shade wants to know what the *fuck* is keeping our backup! Over."
There was a moment of silence, then a cool voice replied, "Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch. I see no record of Preventer Shade calling for backup. Over."
I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood and counted to ten before replying, "Dispatch, the call for backup was placed at precisely 2207 by Preventers Shade and Sky. Request was acknowledged and Dispatch confirmed backup was on the way. It is now 2332 and backup has *not* arrived. Over."
"There is no record of Preventers Shade and Sky calling for backup," the voice repeated. "Is backup required? Over."
Fighting down the urge to scream obscenities at the radio - not only would that not help, it would probably get me severely reprimanded and a suspension to boot - I managed to reply levelly, "Yes. Backup is required at the abandoned Langdon Base, Hangar 2. Along with at least two ambulances for injured suspects, transportation for at least nine prisoners, and we may need the meatwagon too." I strongly suspected that the man I'd picked off of the ladder was dead; he'd fallen a long way and I'd seen no sign of movement after he hit. I added, "Both officers injured and in need of medical attention. Over." Heero's left biceps was bleeding fairly heavily and the wound on my own thigh had opened up more from the exertion. Neither of us was in any immediate danger but we were going to require treatment.
I waited for acknowledgement for several minutes without receiving it. While I waited, I took over three prisoners from Heero. He had used the shoulder straps from their own surrendered rifles to tie their hands but I kept my gun on them anyway. I wasn't taking *anything* for granted at this point. Finally, I called again, "Dispatch, this is Preventer Shade. Is backup on the way or do I need to call the Commander's home number? Over." I was only half bluffing; I'd gone well beyond pissed off and was nicely into icy rage at this point. Backup had been a little slow arriving a few times before but there had always been a legitimate excuse and they *had* always shown up. I'd never even considered it as possibly being related to the harassment problem.
I don't know whether it was my threat to call Commander Une or if it had genuinely taken that long to dispatch backup but the response finally came, "Preventer Shade, this is Dispatch. Backup confirmed. ETA is fifteen minutes. Over."
"Acknowledged. Shade over and out."
The trapped shuttle had finally shut down its engines. No one emerged from it; by unspoken agreement, Heero and I just left its passengers alone. Backup could deal with them; we had our hands full as it was. Heero had caught four of the gunmen, which left two unaccounted for, one of whom was the one who had fallen. He was probably still lying where he fell but we weren't counting on it. Nor were either of us going back inside the sagging, listing hangar to check.
By the time Heero prodded the fourth prisoner - the one with the shattered hand - over to my position, I'd managed to wrestle my temper back under control. This was neither the time nor the place to be discussing the seamier side of internal Preventer politics, personality conflicts, and power struggles. "Dispatch said in fifteen," I said shortly.
Heero scowled, "Chopper or shuttle, then, unless they were enroute."
"Chopper or shuttle," I agreed. It was impossible to make it from HQ to here in less than an hour by car, even under ideal conditions and with a damn good driver.
Heero's scowl darkened at the implications. I inclined my head slightly, my jaw tight with tension. Being on our own during the war had been one thing; being unable to count on backup now was something else entirely. Now, we were supposed to take prisoners, not shoot to kill. During the war, we'd have just blown the damn shuttle full of weapons and been done with the whole mess. Hell, we'd have blown the fucking *hangar*, not screwed around trying to get the assholes to surrender or to at least manage to take them alive.
Partners have to rely on each other. Have to trust each other. Heero and I did. Unconditionally. Our close friendship was an extension of that partnership, one that we both treasured.
But as Preventers, we should have been able to rely on other Preventers. Should have been able to trust our fellow agents on a professional level even if we weren't exactly best buds on a personal level. And we couldn't.
***