Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Project Echo ❯ Part Three ( Chapter 3 )

 

Project Echo

Part Three

 

Author: Lily Zen

 

 

Notes: So what do you guys think so far? Yea? Nay? I know I'm getting some hits, but so far nobody's said anything. There's some lime in this chapter. A quick note about anarchy… As it's mentioned several times in this story.

 

Anarchy is defined as a utopian society where individuals enjoy complete freedom characterized by the absence of government. I'm not an anarchist, nor is Eris. She thinks that even though she would prefer to be completely free, she can recognize the logical need for some sort of control in society—rules. Eris believes in a slightly different concept called discordia or discordia concors (harmonious discord), which is defined as harmony or unity gained by combining disparate or conflicting elements. To apply this term to the story, it means that she believes in acknowledging and appreciating both the chaotic and organized elements of the world. If you are curious about the concept of discordia, I would recommend to you reading the Principia Discordia, which can be found online. It's not particularly enlightening, as it was written mostly as a joke, but there are some interesting tidbits which can be found in there.

 

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing's not mine. Dollhouse concepts aren't mine. The chapter's song is “Give” by Tori Amos, which is also not mine.

 

 

So you heard I crossed over the line.
Do I have regrets?
Well, not yet.

There are some…some who give blood.
I give love.
I give…

 

They met almost three years ago.

 

Eris was a dancer at Caged Exotics then, and had been a member of the group Ragnarok, a bunch of anarchists (though she called it Discordia, insisting that there was a difference between the two). That had been during the alarming Operation: Happy Heero where his friends and co-workers had decided Heero Needed A Life and made it their mission to see that he got one. Some of the guys from work—thankfully, Chang had not partaken in the ordeal, as Heero truly had no idea how Wufei would cope with being among women of such loose moral caliber--had taken him to Caged Exotics. Eris, of course, made him as a cop that first night, while she was giving him a lap dance no less. Embarrassing having a girl grinding on your erection while she bubbled with laughter in his ear—“What brings the Five-O way out here? Is justice a lonely bedfellow?”

 

He'd gone back to see her a few times, finding himself reluctantly captivated by the blonde dancer, and she had graciously entertained him each and every time, unalarmed by his stoic nature. Later on she had approached Heero during the holiday season with a rather disturbing tip about a small unit of rogue Ragnarok members that were hatching a bomb plot to be executed during the New Year's Eve countdown. Since then she'd proven to be invaluable as a CI. Her connections to the seedy underworld through her job and her political allegiances led to her obtaining a lot of good intel.

 

Of course, Heero wasn't foolish enough to think that she told him everything that was going on. Eris had a flexible sense of right and wrong, and seemed to be able to turn her own morality off if it suited her. She would think nothing of doing harm to someone who did harm to others. In a way, her sense of justice was closer to Wufei's than Heero's, though she didn't have Wufei's honorable ethics impinging on her decisions. Because of that, she was sometimes cruel.

 

And yet…

 

And yet somehow, Eris and Heero had bonded. It wasn't like what he shared with the other pilots. Heero had never looked at Duo and wanted to have sex with him before. To say that would be unsettling would be an understatement. But there was something about Eris that reminded him of himself and his friends, an edge that had been honed through years of hard living that put him at ease.

 

Eris made him feel comfortable in a way other women hadn't. She looked fragile, but Heero knew that there was strength hidden under her enticing curves. That and she didn't pressure him like others had. In fact, she seemed to want a committed `relationship' less than he did. Thus they had enjoyed each other sexually for two years, and though they had other lovers during that time, they still tended to orbit back to one another. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, in more ways than one. Eris fed him information and in exchange, Heero kept her slice of the underworld as honest as it got, and in their spare time, they warmed each other's beds.

 

So it was surprising when she hesitated outside of his front door that evening. Normally, Eris was quite fond of spending time with Heero, despite him being a physical representation of the Peace that Vice Foreign Minister Darlian was always going on about on television and the radio, and what amounted to an officer of the law. When he was with her, Heero seemed to forget about those things. She saw glimpses of the kind-hearted man underneath his steely exterior and the warrior who had found his way through many battles, and Eris quite liked them both. But that night she hesitated, caught in a brief moment of fight or flight that came on the heels of the realization that Heero was going to try to probe her more about Ragnarok. Up until that point, he had merely accepted her words at face value, but…

 

She resolved to play dumb if he brought it up and rang the doorbell with a little more force than necessary, demurely tucking an elaborate parasol under her left arm. The parasol was more than a charming affectation, though most didn't know it. Eris let them think she was merely an eccentric. However, underneath the stylish black lace trim and ribbons, the parasol was made of water-repellent fabric, and had an unbelievably tough handle, the bottom of which did not curve but ended in an elaborate metal grip with a silver skull at the end of it. When pulled, a sword similar to a katana was revealed. Eris was an expert at many different martial arts, but she preferred the safety of such a weapon considering who some of her acquaintances were and where she worked. Besides, it was virtually impossible to carry a gun around those days unless you were with the police.

 

Okay, so a gothic parasol wasn't exactly inconspicuous, so Eris dressed the part to make it blend better. Besides, she was charming enough that if she set off metal detectors, people simply assumed it was her parasol, and having it had come in handy more than once.

 

When Heero opened the door, she was fingering that metal handle, wondering what was taking so long. Her mind quickly deduced that he had been in the shower thanks to his wet hair and his only half-zipped jeans. Eris ghosted inside, lips quirked, suddenly remembering why she liked Heero's company so much. She wanted to press her lips against his chest and lick off the water droplets beading down it from his wet hair. Wondering if he would be amenable to that, she placed her parasol in the umbrella stand, and stood staring expectantly, hands clasped.

 

“Hello,” she whispered, and it was almost shy sounding.

 

Heero's dark eyebrows lifted in curiosity at this oddity in behavior. “Hi.”

 

Moving slowly, so as not to startle him, Eris placed her hands on his hips, invading the ex-pilot's personal space. She was smiling to herself as she watched her hands trace his abdominal muscles, and up higher, making a pathway to his neck. Heero shivered under the gentle touch, and when Eris leaned down to lick away the water on his collarbone, exhaled in a rough sound that might have been a sigh if he'd been a woman. “It's good to see you,” she commented, nibbling at his neck and under his jaw.

 

“You too,” Heero replied, voice sounding slightly strangled. His hands, which had come to rest of their own volition on her more rounded hips, flexed involuntarily. She reached his lips, soft as a butterfly wing, just sort of fluttering over him. Heero was the one who parted his lips further and pressed her harder against him. She liked that—feeling the strength in his hands as he tried to ignite her lust. It didn't take much effort usually, but the day had been a long one and there were other necessities she needed to see to first.

 

Pulling away with a gasp, Eris stepped out of the embrace with a firm shove. “I hope you went shopping this week,” she began teasingly, “'Cause I'm starving. I missed lunch.” Heero sighed and shook his head, watching her as she bent to unzip those tall vinyl boots. She wore black thigh highs underneath them, which she also peeled off, standing first on one leg then the other like a heron.

 

“You're here to torture me,” Heero bemoaned quietly as he led the way into his kitchen, “I just want to get laid, and you're here being a tease.”

 

“Dude, I gotta eat,” she replied calmly, sounding much like his American friend, Duo, and hopping on the counter to sit. Her legs splayed wide, and Heero was momentarily transfixed by the sight. “Heero, please,” she finally stated, “I can't do anything unless you feed me first. I might start eating you otherwise.” That snapped him out of it, and he obligingly rummaged through the admittedly spare contents of his refrigerator.

 

Eventually, he came up with two eggs, an English muffin, and leftover Empress Chicken from the nearby Chinese take-out restaurant, which had been his dinner earlier. He held up his meager offerings with a question in his eyes and made a mental note to go shopping tomorrow. Eris laughed and stated, “The Chinese is fine. Thanks.”

 

“You're welcome,” Heero replied as he turned his back on the girl sprawled on his kitchen counter—which surely wasn't all that sanitary, but Heero found that he didn't particularly care—and put the entire container in the microwave for a minute. He handed Eris a pair of chopsticks and watched discreetly as she adeptly picked food out of the paper box and hurriedly chewed and swallowed, making some sort of happy noise as she did so.

 

While she was eating, Heero powered up his laptop and cracked open a beer. After a moment of thought, he also opened one for Eris and set it on the counter next to her. She nodded her thanks, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk around a mouth full of food. Heero didn't drink much and he didn't drink often, but he did enjoy the bitter taste of beer once in awhile. Mostly, he kept it to offer his few guests something.

 

They kept each other's company in silence until Eris began to fill up. “So what are you working on?” she asked lightly, not really expecting an answer.

 

“Confidential.” That was as good as not getting an answer to Eris.

 

“Cool. I broke up a fight today,” she laughed, “They were short-staffed at the club `cause one of the bouncers called in sick. Of course, that's the day some asshole decides he's gonna get rowdy, right? Long story short, the dancer's okay, the other guy's a little bruised, and the asshole was carted away with a warning to never come back.”

 

Heero smiled and one his thick eyebrows raised up. “Carted away? Is he going to be filing assault charges on you?”

 

Eris snorted and slid off the counter to dump the container in the garbage can. She waltzed over to Heero, putting a little swing in her step as she noticed his eyes following her. Most people would describe his eyes as cold, but there were nuances Eris had learned to pick up on over the years. Right at the moment, she could see hunger reflected there in the carefully controlled depths of his icy eyes. It was a distant thing, like lightning seen miles away, but it was there. She didn't stop until she'd slipped between the stools at the breakfast counter, so close it would only take a deep breath to brush her breasts against his arm. “Not if he knows what's good for him,” she finally replied, reaching out and shutting Heero's laptop without looking at the screen. She didn't really care what went on in Preventer Land. If it had something to do with her, she liked to think that Heero would warn her beforehand.

 

Heero didn't flinch at the sound of his laptop shutting, nor did he look away from Eris' violet eyes when he pulled her closer. Her right knee perched on the chair between his legs, her other leg anchored to the ground steadily. There was a challenge in her eyes as they kissed with their eyes open. It was an intense moment, staring at each other from such a close distance while their tongues tangled. Then Eris let her eyelids drift closed, hands tangling in his thick hair. Subconsciously, Heero found that he was shifting his crotch against her knee. His zipper pressed against him uncomfortably, a harsh counterpoint to the sensuality of their lips gliding over each other.

 

He wanted her closer and so he broke their kiss to make that happen. With a strength that belied his frame, Heero wrapped his arms underneath Eris' derriere and hoisted her onto his lap. The counter top dug into her back if she leaned too far away from him, so she cuddled closer, wiggling a little bit on his hardening length, enjoying the feel of it between her legs and up against the curvature of her ass. “Feeling a little pent-up, Heero?” she asked cheekily.

 

Refusing to rise to the bait, he simply said, “yes,” and took her mouth again. His fingers worked the laces of her corset without looking at them, untying the bow, loosening the ribbon—finally growing frustrated and pulling the ribbon out of their rings entirely. The corset fell between their bodies with a crinkly plastic sound, and Eris spared a moment to glare at him before she tossed it aside. “Really, Heero, you know it's a pain to re-lace them.” He smiled, a dark, pleased little grin, and kissed under her ear where he knew she was sensitive, working the column of flesh until she had forgotten her ire.

 

“Bedroom?” he suggested in a low growl, and she shivered as she felt the vibration of it in her throat and chest. She wanted to make some nonchalant reply, but knew her voice would come out too shaky to make it work. Finally, all she said was, “Okay,” in a breathy voice, sliding off his lap and heading towards the room in question. Heero walked quietly, but she felt his presence hot on her heels as she entered the bedroom and crawled onto the bed—no headboard or footboard, just a box spring and mattress on a frame, blankets made up with military precision—in a sensual move learned from one of the sluttier girls in her head, possibly Jemma.

 

Her eyes locked with Heero's again as he stood at the side of the bed, watching her. It seemed to be a hobby of his. So she began slowly easing up her tank top, shifting up onto her knees to give him a better view as her torso stretched up.

 

Defined abs that still managed to be feminine was revealed first, and Eris traced a finger around her belly button, making her own breath catch. Then the bottom of her black bra with its lacy details, and the creamy swells of her breasts cresting over them were shown. The paleness of her skin was accentuated with all that lack of color, and she almost found herself wishing that she could tan. However, that had never worked with her—she had always burned red, peeled, and then gone back to that perfect milk color. `Almost' because she saw that in Heero's eyes, she didn't need to be tan. She was quite beautiful already.

 

What a good man I have.

 

The thought was an idle one. Heero wasn't really hers by any stretch of the imagination, but it was true—he was a good man. Perhaps what she meant was `what a good man I have here?' Oh well. She tossed her shirt off the bed and found Heero crawling onto the bed himself in a movement that was almost feline in grace. He reached out and cupped her breasts through her bra, making her inhale quickly as his fingers unerringly found her nipples through the material and teased them. Another moment later and the sensation was made into a memory by the scrap of fabric being flung across the room. The tiny metal eyelets made a scraping noise as they slid down the closet door to the carpet.

 

“I hope you didn't scratch the wood,” Eris commented.

 

Heero looked up with his tongue idly tracing circles around a puckered pink nipple. He pulled back just far enough to say, “I'll fix it later.”

 

That was the last thing either one of them said, conversationally, for quite some time.

 

Soon before the sun…
before the sun begins to rise,
I know that I… I must give,
so that I… I can live.

There are some… some whose "give"
twists itself to take--they mis-take.
Who? What…what made up the line?
Some say it was pain,
or was it shame?

 

After that fateful day back in 195, Eris had found her way to the Republic of Northern Europe, which included Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, and the countries that used to be known as Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. Now, as a province of the Republic, they were known collectively as Litovia. The people of the Republic were generally light and fair, so Eris thought this was a good place to blend in.

 

The first six months or so were difficult. No matter how much knowledge one had on a subject, it was always entirely different to be immersed in it. Eris struggled to provide the necessities for herself in a war-torn country where people were wary of strangers. Many of the locals existed in a constant state of paranoia, worried about ex-Alliance, OZ, and the Gundams, not to mention the rebel groups that seemed to be constantly cropping up. Despite her fluency in the local language—Eris was fluent in all the major world languages; thanks doc—and the creation of a new identity as Eris Nilsen (and the paperwork to prove such an identity), she was still having difficulty making ends meet.

 

Then she met Siegfried Jorgensen, a man nearly twenty years her senior who had the devastation of having seen too many wars written all over his face. It was a cold winter, and Eris was looking for some place warm to crash for the night. Her fingers were stiff in the pockets of her parka as she walked down the back streets. Eventually she found an old loading dock in the industrial meat packing district. The building looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time. Everything was locked down, graffitied on; everything except the second to last loading dock. The lock was broken.

 

Eris opened the heavy sliding door, pushing it up off the ground high enough that she could wiggle in. She almost stopped when she realized she could hear the low murmur of men's voices, but tiredness got the better of her and said that she could hide somewhere that they would never find her. Judging by the fact that the heat and lights were off, they weren't supposed to be here either.

 

She shut the heavy door as quietly as she could and ran upstairs onto the second floor, scurrying about like a little rat. Clearly the second floor was where the offices had been located. There was a concrete platform overlooking the first floor operation, and a room with Plexiglas windows. From her vantage point on the platform, Eris could see low fires burning in barrels, a small gathering of twenty or so people, and a man standing in front of them, speaking in a loud, charismatic voice.

 

“Do you know what I have learned throughout these years?” he was saying. Eris crouched down low, listening curiously while she picked the lock on the office door. “I have learned that order brings chaos, and chaos brings order. They are two sides of the same coin. I have watched my family die for high ideals like peace and unity, and yet chaos still thrives. They are beasts that feed on the insecurities of humanity, and yet they also feed into them. There is a beauty in that; in the push and pull, the drive to succeed and the depression of failure.

 

“This endless struggle has shown human kind at its most base. Is it ugly? Yes, most assuredly, but even the most ugly of things can be loved. I have never been so alive as I am now, thriving in the chaos, swimming through the primordial muck and mire with all of you. My brothers and sisters of spirit, if this be Ragnarok, then let us welcome it with open hearts and fighting hands. That would be as our Viking ancestors would have done! We will not die quietly as though we are children huddling in the dark! We will die with swords in our hands and peace in our hearts knowing that this is what it means to be human! Do not fear the sounds of battle! Be in awe of them, because it reflects who we are at our core.”

 

It wasn't so much what he said as how he said it that made Eris stop what she was doing and stare. He was filled with such passionate conviction that she just had to see who this man was, this man who had chosen to idolize their discordant world rather than bow down to the sorrow it had inflicted upon them. Her mind catalogued his features: thirties, blonde, broad shouldered, deep-set wrinkles around mouth and eyes, goatee. That wasn't what she was really interested in though.

 

She shook her head when she realized that what she wanted to do was speak with him. That was not a tactically sound plan though, and so she slipped inside the office as the meeting began to break up. Unbeknownst to her, Siegfried looked up at the movement of the door. He spoke with his friends for some time and then made polite excuses to escape so that he might check it out without alarming the rest of the group.

 

Eris heard movement on the stairs, so she huddled deeper into the office, crouched down behind a filing cabinet, back against the wall. The hilt of the dead guard's sword dug into her neck, the sheath was a solid line of comfort down her spine, underneath the parka where she'd shanghaied a holster for it. The weapon was hidden from prying eyes by her bulky coat and her long blonde hair. A gun that she'd taken off of a different guard—not the .45, but rather her preferred 9mm—made its presence known by the way the top of the belt holster dug into her stomach. She'd cut a hole in her left pocket for an unobtrusive draw. As the doorknob began to turn, Eris already had her hand on the grip.

 

“Come into the room,” she ordered with her gun pointed right at the man's head, “Close the door quietly. Don't try anything funny.”

 

Siegfried did so without argument and then kept his hands up near his sides, palms out. “I'm not here to harm you,” he said slowly, “Unless you're here to harm me?”

 

“I don't even know who you are,” Eris scoffed, “Don't be so conceited.”

 

“If there's no ill will here between the two of us, then you should lower your weapon as an act of good faith,” Siegfried said, his low but somehow clear voice very steady. There was a note there that spoke of cajoling, which made Eris all the more defensive.

 

“Why? Is all your talk of the joy in chaos just words? Have I stripped away all your bravado with the barrel of my gun?” She sneered derisively and something perverse in her made her flick the safety off and cock the gun—a totally unnecessary action. There was something about hearing a gun being cocked that struck fear into men though, and there was something—someone—in Eris that loved the thought of that.

 

“Not at all,” Siegfried replied matter of factly, “But you have an unfair advantage, already having had your gun drawn. I could make a move towards my weapon, but you would shoot me before I ever got near it. If we are to battle, I would at least like to have a chance. However, since that is not the case, it would be unwise of me to challenge you. Young lady, you have the advantage here. Would you kill an unarmed man?”

 

Lilac eyes narrowed in suspicion, she weighed the truth of his words, the honesty of his body language, and the sincerity in his steady brown eyes. She didn't trust him yet, but she didn't feel that his death was necessary and she would be at a tactical disadvantage with the group of people just down the stairs being witnesses. She would have to slaughter them all, and even Eris would have a tricky time taking down twenty assailants at once. The gun disappeared into her pocket and slid into the holster easily. She flicked the safety back on, but kept her hand resting lightly on the grip. “…I don't think the Vikings would approve,” she drawled slowly as the tension in the room began to drop.

 

Siegfried slowly lowered his hands. “My name is Siegfried Jorgensen,” he introduced himself, “I would wager money on it that you're in a tough spot right now. So are we, but we have some food. You are welcome to share with us. No pressure, no strings.”

 

Eris looked wary, but her stomach had clenched at the word `food' and seemed unlikely to let up. Finally, she shrugged and began walking towards the man. “If I think you're jerking my chain,” she warned coolly, “I have no compunction about killing you.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Siegfried responded with equal coolness and perhaps a touch of dry humor, as he gave her his back and walked through the door. She spent several nights there, sharing meals with Ragnarok and sleeping in the office (with the door barricaded—she didn't trust those fuckers as far as she could throw them) before she was approached about doing a favor for Siegfried. For a fee, of course. Then another, and another, and soon they were her friends and she was one of them.

 

Strangely, she had been with them ever since. Oh, not always in Oslo. About a year after the war ended, Siegfried had approached Eris about moving to Luxembourg and keeping an eye on Francois Benecait, the man who had come to Oslo to learn about Ragnarok's ideals. He had then asked Siegfried for permission to use the name for his group in Luxembourg, similar to a business franchise. Siegfried had said he was free to do so as he himself had no claim to ownership over the word.

 

“It is not that I don't trust him,” Siegfried hedged one night as the two of them stoked a fire in the brick fireplace of the cabin Siegfried lived in and shared a jug of cheap wine, “But…”

 

“I understand,” Eris cut him off, “Ragnarok's ideology was forged in the fires of war. It is easy to misinterpret discordia as anarchy. Should this man do so, and should he act on it while the world is still recovering its balance, you would feel responsible.” She took a healthy swallow of wine and passed the jug back to her friend, then leaned forwards, drawing her knees to her chest and linking her arms around them. Eris had a good job then working at a member-owned restaurant as a bartender and server, so her clothes were nicer than in the war. That night she wore skintight jeans and a black fleece hoodie over a tank top. Her heavy black boots sat by the door, and a red wool coat hung on the coat rack. It was a far cry from her ragged parka and threadbare pants.

 

A part of her was sad to leave that steadiness, that comfort behind. It was the safest she had felt as far as she could remember. There was something nice about going to work five days a week, getting paid every two, not having to worry about where your next meal would come from or how long your clothes would last you. Still, those were all just things. Eris could admit to herself that though she could function in this time of peace that part of her was anxious, greedy even, for battle, for action. Something to make the adrenaline pump through her veins in a heady rush and leave her feeling more satisfied than sex ever could (or maybe it was simply too different a type of satisfaction).

 

“Yes,” Siegfried admitted after a pause, “I would feel responsible.”

 

She lifted her eyes to his then and smiled with genuine affection. “Then I will move to Luxembourg and be your eyes and ears in this other Ragnarok. I did not meet Benecait while he was here, so there will be no reason for him to suspect me.” It showed in his steady brown eyes that Siegfried was grateful for her acquiescence, and her friend's happiness was like a small, personal victory for her.

 

Soon before the sun…
before the sun begins to rise,
I know that I… I must give,
so that I… I can live.

Some… some who give blood.
I give love.

I give…

 

Benecait was no Siegfried.

 

Siegfried was, for the most part, a good man, an honest man with his own personal set of morals and ethics, his own philosophy on life. It had been developed as a reaction to years of hardship and heartbreak, and had served him and the people of Oslo well. It suited Eris too—most of it, anyway; after listening to Siegfried speak so often, she had formed her own thoughts on what exactly Discordia was.

 

Benecait did not have as many qualms as Siegfried did.

 

Siegfried talked of respecting the balance between chaos and order.

 

Benecait liked to tip it.

 

Francois Benecait owned the club where Eris worked. She had approached her assignment in Luxembourg like any sane person would approach an undercover operation: she had used his business as an in. Eris fit in well in the gothic scene. She had the pale skin and hair to fit in, and her eyes made her a hot commodity. The people who came to watch the strippers at Caged Exotics wanted something just so; they wanted to see exotics.

 

Eris didn't mind being looked at or touched. It was nothing worse than what OZ had made her do. She had little sense of the degradation some of the girls seemed to feel towards having sex for money, and though she did not receive a feeling of validation like still some of the others, she did not mind it. The sex was simply an act to further her cover within the Luxembourg Ragnarok.

 

It took time until Benecait trusted her, but eventually he let her into the fold. However, nothing Benecait did ever alarmed Eris to the point that she saw him as a threat. He had been a gangster and a pimp before the war, had been conscripted into OZ and forced to fight during the war, and had merely emerged more jaded than before. Ragnarok had given him an outlet for his anger and now he ran his cell as tightly as he had once run his gang. However, Eris had no problems with authoritarian rule; she had been raised in the military. Aside from some petty larceny, minor possession charges, and a few questionable business deals, Benecait seemed rather legit nowadays. Okay, okay, so he still pimped out his girls, who the fuck cares?

 

It wasn't so much Benecait that was the problem; it was his followers. Sometimes when Eris caught wind of some young upstart planning to show the world what Ragnarok meant, or at least what they perceived as Ragnarok's mission, she tipped off Heero about it if the threat was serious enough. Those required more trained back-up and man-power than Eris was capable of mustering in her current situation. Besides, she had no authority to punish such offenders and believed that they were better off left to rot in the penal system. Then other times there were ones that she could take care of quietly.

 

Occasionally, Benecait would ask a favor of her, and those she could not decline due to the sake of her cover. For instance, Benecait's old accountant had tried to steal from him, and when the French immigrant found out, he asked Eris to question him as to the whereabouts of the stolen goods. Benecait had discovered quite by accident that Eris had excellent people skills and the cool detachment to make an incredible interrogator. The man held out longer than Eris would have liked, eventually forcing her to use brutality to secure the information. A distant part of her had felt sorry for cutting off his pinky; another part howled in joy.

 

However, Eris still wasn't Benecait's most trusted. There were plenty of secrets that she might not be privy to. Siegfried was worried. His sources were saying things about a Preventer infiltrating the Oslo group. That wasn't so huge a problem. Siegfried and the Oslo Ragnarok had nothing to hide. An undercover agent might spook some of the members, but Siegfried could at least work around it. Heero was asking questions—definitely not a good sign, which meant that somewhere someone related to Ragnarok was being very, very bad. The only way to maintain the balance between these parts of her life was to go deeper into the Luxembourg branch. To do that, she might have to make some compromises on the ideals she had agreed to when she was with Siegfried, and she might have to do things that Heero would definitely not approve of…

 

But if there was something going on, she needed to know what it was and then determine if she should interfere.

 

Eris rolled over in the bed and one of her legs fell out from underneath the covers. Heero slept on, lying on his back with his hands resting on his chest. She knew his eyes were flicking underneath his closed eyelids, his subconscious mind busy analyzing the sounds and movements, determining if they were a threat. Eventually he would relax again and then she would slide the rest of the way out of the bed, wait a few more minutes, and collect her clothes from the floor. After that, the blonde woman would pause at the door, check to make sure he was still sound asleep, and leave the room. She dressed in the hallway because the sound of her buckles and zippers were often enough to startle Heero awake.

 

Then she would leave in her used compact car—sure, they could make flying mobile suits, but had they bothered to make a flying car yet?—and go home to her tiny apartment, locking the door to Heero's house behind her. She had once asked why such a paranoid man didn't have a home alarm, to which he had responded, “Someone who is determined enough will know how to bypass such a simplistic system. Besides, I like to think I am deterrent enough against attackers.”

 

Eris had laughed and ruffled his hair, saying, “You are one scary motherfucker.”

 

The look on his face had been well worth it, and just to make up for his indignance, Eris placed a soft, wet kiss on his mouth, pulling away with a gentle nip. From underneath half-lidded eyes, she saw Heero's lips twitch in a smile that was boyishly charming, and then he had kissed her again and managed to convince her to spend the night—a rare occasion indeed.

 

Soon before the sun…
before the sun begins to rise,
I know that I… I must give,
so that I… I can live.

 

 

TBC…