Unexpected

By: Dyna Dee

Pairings: 1 + 2, for now, 2 + others. Hopefully an eventual 1x2

Rating: M for language

The entire fifteenth floor of the Preventers building fell silent as the argument taking place behind the door of Director Une escalated into a shouting match which lasted no more than 20 seconds. A deafening silence followed as all strained to hear what would happen next. Moments later that same door opened, only to be forcefully slammed shut behind the exiting agent. The young agent's thin chest heaved as he struggled to compose himself.

Wide, curious eyes watched through open doors and around corners as Agent Maxwell stormed down the hallway, his booted footfalls on the waxed linoleum matching the angry expression they'd glimpsed on his face. His pinched, pale features and tightly pressed lips had fellow agents, unfortunate enough to be standing in his way, wisely jumping into the nearest doorway. It was obvious Agent Duo Maxwell was a very unhappy young man.

Reaching the office he shared with his partner of two years, the angry agent flung the door open with enough force that the doorknob bypassed the jab and sunk into the wall. Other than the rise of one dark eyebrow, Heero didn't look surprised by his stormy entrance. Without a word to his partner, Duo continued on to his desk, flung himself into his chair and immediately bent to open the lower drawer. He straightened a moment later with a handful of thumb drives. He selected one, shoved it into the appropriate slot on his computer and proceeded to download his files.

"What did she say?" Heero finally ventured to ask.

"You know damn well what she said," he snapped back, his burning, dark-circled eyes never moving from the screen in front of him.

The Japanese man sighed loudly enough for Duo to hear and said, "It's for your own good."

"Oh shut up."

"Look at you," Heero persisted. "You're falling apart. You're physically and mentally exhausted. You haven't taken a vacation in two years."

"Yeah, well neither have you."

"A vacation isn't relevant in my case."

With eyes blazing with resentment, he looked up from what he was doing to meet Heero's gaze. "Why isn't it 'relevant', Heero? No wait." He threw up a hand to stop the other man from answering. "Let me guess. You're gonna tell me how much more capable you are, how you're able to withstand the rigors of being a Preventers agent better than I can. Or could it be that damn ridiculous conditioning Dr. Fucked-In-The-Head J put you through that makes you superior to the rest of us mere mortals? Of course that's why you don't need a break from the sixty-plus hours we put in every damn week."

Winded after his short tirade, Duo had to pause to catch his breath. And during that long, drawn out moment of tense silence Heero sat motionless, silently watching him. That somehow irritated him even more. "Answer me, Heero. Why isn't it relevant?"

"Why bother answering when you've already stated the obvious?" Heero continued to look at him, completely unaffected by his anger and sour attitude.

Slumping back into his chair, he wearily closed his eyes. Shit, he was tired. He'd done his damn best to keep up, to show Heero he was his equal in a desperate attempt to win the other man's approval. He'd worn himself down to a state of exhaustion just trying to keep up with the indefatigable agent.

It was all true, his earlier ranting. Heero, by training, enhancements and natural ability, had more mental and physical strength than seemed humanly possible. Truth be told, he resented Heero almost as much as he admired him. There he sat, the perfect example for all Preventers to aspire to, dressed in his crisply ironed uniform with the glow of health on his face and sharp alertness in his eyes. Heero was always ready for anything, at any time.

In contrast, Duo was well aware of his own disheveled state. His clothes were anything but pristine or neatly ironed. With all the hours he put in at work every day, it was nearly impossible to find time for mundane chores such as laundry.

The quick appraisal he'd given his reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning had been somewhat shocking. What he saw looking back at him was a physically worn down 19-year old with dull, dark circled eyes over prominent cheekbones, a result of weight loss. His face was, as usual, was stubbled from at least three-day's growth of beard. And his poor neglected hair, hastily pulled into a sloppy braid, had broken strands sticking out everywhere. No doubt about it, he was a mess, inside and out. No wonder Sally had called him in for a unscheduled and thorough physical the day before. The results of that exam had led to the unpleasant meeting with Director Une moments ago.

He wondered, admittedly a bit late, why Sally had waited until now to call him into the medical unit. The good doctor was usually too busy to track someone down for a surprise physical.

The answer to his question popped into his mind. Straightening in his chair, he slanted an accusing look at his partner. "You talked to Sally, didn't you? That's why I was called in for the physical yesterday."

There was a pause before his partner answered, "Your present condition impedes your performance." Heero's cool, professional tone surprised him. It was usually reserved for dealing with his superiors or subordinates, not his best friend.

Then Heero took a deep breath and his face softened a bit as he continued more gently. "You're obviously not well, Duo, and haven't been for months. When Une asked me about your mental and physical state, my lying to cover up the truth would not have been in your best interest. She's the one who spoke to Poe, not me."

Duo looked away, undecided about whether the look in the other man's deep blue eyes was concern or disappointment. Probably a bit of both. "Sometimes it's really hard to like you, Heero."

It was a phrase he'd often used when teasing the other former gundam pilot, but this time he wasn't joking. He refused to look or speak to Heero until he finished copying his case files. Removing the final thumb drive from the computer, he set it in a inter-office envelope with the other five and sealed the flap. Shutting down and closing his laptop, he carefully stashed it in its case, then set the thick strap over his drooping shoulder and moved towards Heero's desk. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the envelope onto the uncluttered desktop and watched it slide across the smooth surface until it stopped in front of the other man.

"What's this?" Heero asked, frowning with confusion as he picked the envelope up.

"My notes on current cases. Give them to your new partner."

Heero's face displayed a rare expression of confusion. "You're my partner."

"Not anymore."

The deep-blue eyes widened momentarily with surprise, then narrowed to a glare. "What do you mean? Une told me she was going to insist you take your vacation time, effectively forcing you to rest, since you won't do it on your own."

"She termed it a leave of absence," Duo snapped. "After telling me I had no choice in the matter, I told her where she could take her leave and to make my absence permanent. I'm cashing out my unused vacation and sick days to pay my bills until I can get another job."

Heero abruptly stood from his seat, his face wore a rare expression of alarm. "There's been some mistake, a misunderstanding."

He felt an odd, perverse feeling of satisfaction washed over him at Heero's distress. "She told me not to come back until I got my shit together. You know better than anyone, Heero, that my shit has never totally been 'together'." "Duo..."

"Stop. Please," he pleaded wearily.

If he kept this conversation up any longer, he might embarrass himself further by doing a face plant on the floor. Besides, there was just a little bit of guilt hanging over his head for leaving Heero to deal with a new partner. The guy had issues with trusting other people, not to mention working with them.

But the decision to quit had already been made and there was nothing more to be done about it. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for walking away from a steady income and working with the best of the best.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, "Guess I'll see ya around."

He turned and moved slowly and deliberately towards the door. The weariness that had plagued him for so long felt even worse after the morning's emotional outbursts. He felt and probably moved like a very old man.

As he reached the door, Heero called out softly. "I'll be over Friday with pizza and a movie. The usual time?"

Pausing at the door, he heaved a resigned sigh he shook his head. Without looking back he answered, "Don't bother. I'm gonna sleep for a week straight then try to figure out what comes next. Right now, I'm just too damn tired to think. I'm just done, Heero. Done with everything."

The room fell silent, and it was just too much for him to resist glancing over his shoulder for a last look at his partner. Heero was standing behind his desk, a deep crease had formed between his eyebrows. He was probably trying to form a response to his parting statement. Honestly, what could he say? As far as Duo was concerned, his leaving was a done deal.

Before Heero could voice an argument for him to reconsider, he stepped out office, closed the door gently behind him, and then began the long walk to the elevator.

Why did each step he took away from the shared office feel labored, like his feet were mired in a mud swamp? He knew that sensation very well, from a assignment he'd had the year before. It had been a wet, muddy and miserable week trudging the Florida swamps for an arms dealer. Mud. He seriously hated slogging through the stuff.

The path ahead, leading to the elevator and joblessness, seemed to stretch out endlessly before him. Damn he was tired and numb with exhaustion, and more so after his arguing with Une a mere two hours after clocking in that morning.

The top psycho of Preventers had blindsided him that morning with a note left on his desk, commanding him to report to her office at ten a.m. He experienced a bad feeling about meeting with Une, but there had been little choice but to show up and play nice.

Once the door to her office closed, and he'd taken the offered chair, and then the boss lady had looked at him, a good long, uncomfortable and scrutinizing look. Then in her usual serious manner, she bluntly stated her concern for his well being. She'd read the results of his physical along with Dr. Poe's recommendation, which she agreed with. The well intentioned doctor had recommended he take at least eight weeks off from work. Une had checked with H.R, and informed him he had enough vacation time to cover two months.

Of course he'd refused, adamantly, more or less forcing Une to order a forced leave of absence so that he could regain his health and some perspective.

Perspective. God did he need some of that. He wasn't really surprised by her recommendation to rest, but he'd always hated being told what to do. Added to that, he felt a bit betrayed by the whole situation. Finding himself backed up against a bureaucratic wall, his knee-jerk response had been to quit Preventers altogether, and in a fairly loud and dramatic way. Yet now that he'd cooled down, he was a little embarrassed about the whole thing.

At last the end of the hallway was near, and his energy level felt to be at an all time low. Was it too much to hope he could make it home before collapsing? Hell, wouldn't that be embarrassing, to pass out in the hallway or elevator from exhaustion, proving Poe and Une right? Hell no. He refused to give them the satisfaction. He straightened his spine, held his head up, if just barely, and worked hard at picking up his feet in an attempt to look strong while leaving the building. He would make it to the parking garage and then pass out if necessary in Heero's car, seeing as how he had the extra key. But he'd be damned if passed out or looked weak in front of his fellow agents.

Closing in on the elevator, it hit him that he was leaving the building for the last time. Surprisingly, the thought didn't upset him as much as he thought it would. Maybe after sleeping a few days he'd be able to think about his next move, but right now all he wanted was to be gone from the place and on his way home.

Sensing the eyes of his co-workers on him as he passed their open doorways, he glanced up to see several dart out of sight, obviously trying to avoid him. He really couldn't blame them. All around, it was an awkward situation. No doubt the entire floor had overheard his argument with Une, since her office was close by. News traveled fast in this organization, especially gossip. His arguing with the top boss and quitting would be all over the building in another five minutes. Good thing he'd be gone by then.

He was now only a few feet from the elevator. Unfortunately, there was no choice but to pass in front of the last office door, which was open. It belonged to Milliardo Peacecraft. It was no secret to anyone in the building that the two long-haired Preventers did not get along. They usually solved that problem by staying as far away from each other as humanly possible. Today, however, the tall, blond aristocratic couldn't help getting in one last jibe.

"Need a hand getting to your vehicle, Maxwell? I'm sure I can find someone to make sure you don't stumble and hurt yourself." The snide tone of Peacecraft's voice would not be lost on anyone with the ability to hear.

Stopping mid stride, Duo took in a fortifying breath before backing up a few steps to peer through the open doorway at his nemesis. Peacecraft was sitting behind the desk wearing his usual snide smile. He noted that Agent Fart-on-the-Wind, as he often referred to him, was entertaining a recognizable visitor, Dorothy Catalonia. The young woman stood just inside the office door wearing an expensive looking pant suit of pale blue, her long pale gold hair draped over her left shoulder. From the lopsided grin on her face it appeared she was enjoying the show. Maybe he'd indulge her a bit more.

"Here's a memo you obviously didn't get, Zechs. There's a petition going around the building asking that you quit using the mask you wore during the war as a urinal. Your office stinks of royal shit."

The blond man shot to his feet, his smile instantly replaced by an outraged, murderous scowl. A very non-regal tirade of explosive expletives were aimed at him. The man was an amateur when it came to swearing, Duo thought. Honestly, Peacecraft had no sense of humor.

Satisfied with having gotten a good rise out of the idiot, he resumed his path to the elevator, ignoring the other man's continuing rant. Everyone in the building knew better than to call Peacecraft the moniker he'd gone by during the war, Zechs Marquis. After the war, the lost Prince of Sanq resumed the name Milliardo Peacecraft, but renounced his royal title to avoid being denounced by the new pacifist, Sanq government. That decision was probably the only smart move the man had made since quitting OZ.

By the time the insulted, red-faced man made his way around the desk and to the hallway, he could only stand with clinched fists and watch with frustration as the elevator doors began to close. Duo forced a smirk and gave the other man a middle-finger salute. As the doors inched closed, Dorothy Catalonia's laughter could be heard above the insulted man's growled threat. It looked like he'd been wrong; it seemed someone of the upper class had a sense of humor after all.

TBC

Author's note: Yeah, I know, I can't believe it either. It's been ages since I posted anything. I've had this sitting in my files forever, along with a couple of other stories I'm still working on. Pardon me, please, I'm a bit rusty at this, but with a little help from my friends I hope to get the story sorted out. This story was meant to be the beginning of an on-going series, but with little time available, I know I probably won't get past this introduction. I would like to extend an open invitation to anyone interested in picking up the next or any following chapters. So, if after reading this story to it's end and you'd like to add to it, contact me for a general idea of where I was going with the plot.