13
Title: Stop The World Part 13
Rated: PG-13?
Warnings: A.U., shounen ai 1x2 of course with background 3x4 and Rx13 [that was weird to write], weak storyline, cliché storyline, and a lot P.O.V. switching... what did I forget... No angst. I could call it drama... And sap. I think they're all in character...
Description: An angel is accused of a horrible crime, and is banished to Earth where the truth plays out. This was supposed to be a mystery/thriller with no real suspense or thrill to it... The plot is weak ::grumble:: ^^
PART 13
This doesn't make sense...
She could hear the ambulance screaming away with the fallen angel. Also known as Relena Peacecraft, activist, advocate, beauty... She hadn't cared to watch them take away the body. She was more interested in the police activity swarming the estate. Especially the bathroom.
The amount of blood was horrendous. No human could have survived... She watched the men and women in uniforms eye the soiled place, and shake their heads. Someone had dusted for fingerprints, on the counter, on the walls, on the mirror...
There were hand prints. But these were without papillae. Only a faint shimmering film revealed itself. And that would be gone in a matter of hours... It was an angel.
The Guardian was wrong, she wondered. Amazing....
She left the blood to the humans. They would draw inconclusive ends.
But I am going to crack this. I'll restore the hall's reputation and I'll rise to Guardian when I've done it. She smiled as she arrived at her next destination. Her feet solidified and touched the hard concrete sidewalk. There was a slight bustle of pedestrian traffic around her, but no one noticed the new feminine figure as it materialized on the curb.
Her wings shrank accordingly, and her smile transferred to her temporary human form. She, the human, was reflected in an attractively lettered store window. 'Horizons'. Beyond it were faint figurines and figures... She opened the door.
Pleasant bells heralded her entry. One of the young men behind the service counter smiled a greeting. The brother to the first murdered, she identified. Keeping with the guise of a simple shop-goer she rifled through trinkets on a table...
There's blood in the air, she noted faintly. A new person appeared from the back of the store, and was greeted by friendly hails...
"Hey, Heero! C'mon lets get some coffee before Quatre changes his mind about giving us lunch off."
"Yes," Quatre sighed. "You know I never let you off for lunch. I'm such a slave driver."
She almost gasped out loud. The fallen angel was here. She stared openly at what remained of his precious wings. She saw the blood that tainted the air, and she shuddered....
"We'll be right back Q--" the man with the long hair chirped. "If you need us just dial up Freddie's." He was already at the door, dragging the fallen angel, not minding the massive wounds marring a perfect back-- but they can't see it, she realized... his pain is his alone... forever... Her resolve was strengthened.
"Alright," the blonde one waved. Bells shrilled and she faced him fully. He smiled patiently at her.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Quatre watched the tall, pale woman curiously. She didn't seem like one of his regular customers. She was too... confidant. She held her head high, her brows arched royally, and she stalked toward his counter with a purpose.
"I'm Detective Dorothy Catalonia, I'm with the investigation of your sister's murder. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
What an old line, Quatre decided with a sigh. .... I wonder why Trowa didn't come... "Ask away," he replied aloud. They're incessant... But like Trowa said. Persistence pays off.... obviously, persistence on their part...
Dorothy smiled blandly. "Alright, Mr. Winner. Here's a rather direct question. Who do *you* suspect?"
Quatre was surprised. He expressed as much in the way his mouth quirked, and moved without speaking at first. "Who do I suspect? That's new.... Well... Iria-- her boyfriend is the only one I could think of. I never met him, so who knows if he was psychotic or not." He swallowed around a familiar lump in his throat, then forced his words to continue. "Trowa-- Detective Barton mentioned that his name might be 'Zechs'...?"
Dorothy nodded eagerly. Quatre fidgeted when she didn't continue her interrogation... Then he posed one of the questions he knew neither Trowa nor Detective Chang would answer for him...
"Have you found out anything new, about the feather?"
The Investigator's reaction wasn't one he expected. Her clear eyes widened; he could have sworn they began to shimmer. She looked as if she wanted to ask him the same question, but stopped. Her flat smile made a reappearance, and she began to move toward the exit.
"Feather. No, nothing new yet, Mr. Winner. We'll contact you as soon as we get anything new."
"B--" Quatre's protest was interrupted by the violent ring of the door bells, and the abrupt absence of Dorothy Catalonia.
Duo watched Heero shiver. He didn't like it. Not one bit.
"So, you're telling me that you don't have a coat. Not even a sweater?" Duo's jaw dropped dramatically as Heero nodded. "Heero!" I feel like slapping him upside the head, but it wouldn't solve anything. Instead, he did what he did best. He talked. "Why don't you have a coat?"
Heero's statement was one of the ones that made Duo want to hug him. It was lost. A lost statement, and no matter what he did, Heero still looked lost. "I don't have anything."
"Heero." Duo stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and tugged at Heero's shirt to get him to look up. After the slight confusion faded from Heero's eyes, Duo smiled gently. "Quatre would have given you an advance paycheck. You're our friend, man. We'll take care of you!"
Duo wrapped Heero up in a giant bear hug. He didn't even know if Heero liked hugs... It's nice to think that he does-- he always seems to respond when I touch his back... Duo grinned as he rubbed his palms rapidly across Heero's back. Heero practically melted in his arms. I like it when he does that way too much, Duo mused.
He released his quiet companion and continued in a joyous gallop to Freddie's coffee shop, several blocks-- or 65 gallops-- away.
Why doesn't he just make out with the guy and get it over with, Wufei mused. He pressed his frozen fingers against the dying heat fan of his car. The pair he'd elected to watch for the hour turned the corner, and he revved the engine to follow. Wasn't much to go on. Even with finding the second feather in front of Yuy's apartment, the investigation was at a standstill. Nothing to do...
Like I'd ever tell Barton that, he mused. Then he'd make me do my own dirty work...
The cold, barren room was unaware of its intruder. His steps were light, and silent. A natural talent for the young detective. He paused in the middle of the bedroom.
If I get caught I'm not going to have any problems naming an accomplice, Trowa swore. Wufei's coming down with me. He glanced into the tiny kitchen, and entered unhurriedly. It was empty. No food, or dishes. If he hadn't seen the slept-in bed, the whole apartment could have been deemed uninhabited. Trowa thumbed through the trash, secure in plastic gloves. There was barely any paper in it.
Who would have guessed 'Fei for the unorthodox kind of detective, Trowa wondered as he eyed the bathroom. Slightly used... He knows the books from cover to cover, and can quote from them when *I* do something wrong... He stopped in the bedroom again, and stared at the unmade bed. Yet he finds the balls to order something like this.
He moved closer to the bed, and started shifting blankets. Underneath the mattress, the bedsprings. Only cobwebs...
The pillow was white, and slightly dented in the shape of a head that had burrowed into it. In that dent was something with an even brighter white glare. It was long, and soft. Light when he lifted it, and familiar.
"Shit," he told the feather. "You sure do show up in some strange places..."
Now they're starting to make the connection, he thought happily. Look at him running off, to tell his partner about the new piece of evidence... Good for him...
He stretched languidly on the bed. The sheets were rough, and the pillow was much too flat. No wonder the fallen tossed and turned all night...
I suppose they've found Relena... Maybe she's dead. There sure was a lot of blood... He half smirked, half grimaced. Her blood hadn't smelled nearly as wonderful as *hers* had.... Maybe now that witch will keep her mouth shut.
"All that's left to die is *you*," he announced to the empty apartment. He rose delicately from the bed and drifted toward the ceiling. He faded, just before touching it.
