The Emissary
Author's Note: And voila, part four of this little drama unfolding. I'm glad that people are liking it, thank you! And I want to add that it was stupid of me to post this on two names, I deleted it on my other name. In this chapter you get to meet Heero! It's March Break, and instead of actually working on my Religion essay or hanging with friends I'm working on my fic for ya. You should feel privileged.
Thank You's: I'd like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed this story, your reviews really make me smile, so keep doing it. Thank you Kasra, Impassioned Insomniac, Mudpie and special thanks to Jefcat! Oh, and I would also like to say thank you my two new betas, Liz and Janine. That offer is now closed.
Disclaimer: This belongs to someone who's making more money than me, so skip along.
"And in recent news, the heir to the Arabian Winner family that spent so much money rebuilding the colonies after the war against OZ has disappeared." The dark haired boy looked up from his black laptop to glare at the television screen in the other corner of the room. "We have tried many times to contact the Winner Manor in Saudi Arabia to gather more information on this, but the heir's head advisor and leader of the Maganacs has not been responding to our contact. This leads us to believe that Rashiid to has disappeared. HPO news has sent special correspondents to the Winner manor to try to gather some information on the pair's mysterious disappearance, but they too disappear as soon upon entering the Winner borders."
Heero jerked his head rapidly from his monitor and sat in a direction that faced the television monitor. All other thoughts were put on hold for the moment, Quatre's disappearance was a key sign in a new, and powerful enemy. Someone who had destroyed, kidnapped or scared off Quatre was not the average, run-of-the-mill criminal. The suspects in his mind were clearly a gundam pilot, Zechs or possibly a new faction that had sprung out of some loose-end he had forgotten to take care of. Heero hated loose ends.
The dark-haired pilot grabbed his gun from beside the glowing computer screen, a sleek leather coat from a rack above and the handy laptop itself.
"Mission, accepted."
***
The air in the hotel room was moist, and the need for a good humidifier was quite evident. The beige or pink walls, Quatre wasn't sure which of the two colours the wall were coloured, were not relaxing his tensed brain. The whole of this over-priced, cheap hotel room was ugly and vulgar. The room was cramped, the television screen and the edge of the ratty double bed almost touched, the only other furniture in the room was a crude desk with an ancient telephone. The room was so cramped that in order to wash your hands in the bathroom you had to stand on the toilet, and there were no showers in the room. These were located at the end of the paint-peeled, too narrow hall. Perhaps Quatre was all too used to the luxuries of his beautiful home in Saudi Arabia, but he war pretty sure that this was a dog house. Not a house fit for his dogs, but a dog house was the least vulgar of the descriptions he had in mind.
Quatre was so wound up, too much to go to sleep so he lay in the bed with its half rusted springs, and stared at the ceiling, counting the individual cells. His lights were out, but the buildings in this part of the city were too grossly packed and too lit at this time of night for him to think of darkness. Every sound made him jump for his gun on the desk. Especially the voices through the paper-thin walls. The boy finally gave up on trying to sleep and walked for his laptop.
"Hmm, someone trying to contact me?" the bronze-haired gundam pilot muttered to himself as he clicked on the mail icon with the name Trowa beside.
Dear Quatre,
My desert rose, when I woke up alone without you by myself I felt so empty to think that you were not by my side. It pains me to think that whatever the danger, you do not feel safe to come to me. That you do not feel you can trust me ad my intentions. Quatre, my sweet love, I would never do a thing to hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. You have gone and made a hole in my soul that I feel cannot be soothed by your assurances. Please Quatre, call me, email me, find some way to let me know how you are if not where.
Your anxious lover, Trowa
***
"Master Trowa?" was the tenacious invitation from his laptop. The dark haired boy looked up from his email account, of which he was so anxiously awaiting the arrival of his sweet Quatre's email. He knew the soft blond boy really was incompetent at refusing any request that Trowa might give him. Especially those where love was concerned.
"Rodriquez?" Trowa inquired when the servant didn't take his hint.
"You requested someone to clean this mess?"
"Yes," Trowa glanced in the direction of Rashiid's immobile body. "Please, don't let me bother you."
The Spaniard looked a little unnerved by the body and Trowa's calm resolve towards his actions, but gathered Rashiid into a zippered bag without any questions.
***
The blond boy slammed his notebook closed in a one of his rare fits of anger. It wasn't fair, how could Trowa not understand his pain. How could he not understand that if he responded to his stupid email he could be traced? It wasn't even unreasonable to think that someone somewhere was tracing his computer connection right now as he stared hazily at the screen? It was stupid to bring the notebook with him. It was stupid to run from an enemy he couldn't see. Stupid to cower in a corner from something while he should be plotting against whoever had forced this situation upon him.
Tiny tears began to stream down Quatre's face, and he caught one into a tight fist. It just wasn't goddamn fair.
***
"Hmph." Heero dismissed the red-haired woman with a coke in her hand. The Japanese boy couldn't for the life of him figure out how stewardesses were oblivious to some of his best death glares. They always approached him and asked him the same stupid questions. Time after time, "Would you like some Peanuts?" "How about a coke?" "How are you doing today?" "Do you know where the emergency life jackets are on the plane?"
Occasionally Heero would answer, "Yes, you stupid little fuck, I know where the hell the life preservers are. This is a military jet." And then the girl would run off crying into a corner while he glared. Occasionally he'd had his job threatened for such, but he knew that they would never actually fire one of their best spies for an issue so tiny as telling of a stewardess. And why were there stewardesses on military private planes anyways?
"Hmmm?" The Japanese boy gave his attention to the small computer screen in front of him. His attempts to hack into Quatre's email account were finally successful. This was a delightful, but necessary surprise. If it was anyone that Quatre knew, and Heero was fairly certain that this new threat was, he was sure that they would try and contact Quatre and coax him out of hiding. Heero just hoped the boy had enough sense not to answer…
Heero found what he was looking for and clicked rapidly on the envelope icon.
Dear Quatre,
My desert rose, when I woke up alone without you by myself I felt so empty to think that you were not by my side. It pains me to think that whatever the danger, you do not feel safe to come to me. That you do not feel you can trust me ad my intentions. Quatre, my sweet love, I would never do a thing to hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. You have gone and made a hole in my soul that I feel cannot be soothed by your assurances. Please Quatre, call me, email me, find some way to let me know how you are if not where.
Your anxious lover, Trowa
Heero tucked his head to his chest in shame as he pondered the situation. So then it is him who has made himself an enemy in me…
Author's Note: And voila, part four of this little drama unfolding. I'm glad that people are liking it, thank you! And I want to add that it was stupid of me to post this on two names, I deleted it on my other name. In this chapter you get to meet Heero! It's March Break, and instead of actually working on my Religion essay or hanging with friends I'm working on my fic for ya. You should feel privileged.
Thank You's: I'd like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed this story, your reviews really make me smile, so keep doing it. Thank you Kasra, Impassioned Insomniac, Mudpie and special thanks to Jefcat! Oh, and I would also like to say thank you my two new betas, Liz and Janine. That offer is now closed.
Disclaimer: This belongs to someone who's making more money than me, so skip along.
"And in recent news, the heir to the Arabian Winner family that spent so much money rebuilding the colonies after the war against OZ has disappeared." The dark haired boy looked up from his black laptop to glare at the television screen in the other corner of the room. "We have tried many times to contact the Winner Manor in Saudi Arabia to gather more information on this, but the heir's head advisor and leader of the Maganacs has not been responding to our contact. This leads us to believe that Rashiid to has disappeared. HPO news has sent special correspondents to the Winner manor to try to gather some information on the pair's mysterious disappearance, but they too disappear as soon upon entering the Winner borders."
Heero jerked his head rapidly from his monitor and sat in a direction that faced the television monitor. All other thoughts were put on hold for the moment, Quatre's disappearance was a key sign in a new, and powerful enemy. Someone who had destroyed, kidnapped or scared off Quatre was not the average, run-of-the-mill criminal. The suspects in his mind were clearly a gundam pilot, Zechs or possibly a new faction that had sprung out of some loose-end he had forgotten to take care of. Heero hated loose ends.
The dark-haired pilot grabbed his gun from beside the glowing computer screen, a sleek leather coat from a rack above and the handy laptop itself.
"Mission, accepted."
***
The air in the hotel room was moist, and the need for a good humidifier was quite evident. The beige or pink walls, Quatre wasn't sure which of the two colours the wall were coloured, were not relaxing his tensed brain. The whole of this over-priced, cheap hotel room was ugly and vulgar. The room was cramped, the television screen and the edge of the ratty double bed almost touched, the only other furniture in the room was a crude desk with an ancient telephone. The room was so cramped that in order to wash your hands in the bathroom you had to stand on the toilet, and there were no showers in the room. These were located at the end of the paint-peeled, too narrow hall. Perhaps Quatre was all too used to the luxuries of his beautiful home in Saudi Arabia, but he war pretty sure that this was a dog house. Not a house fit for his dogs, but a dog house was the least vulgar of the descriptions he had in mind.
Quatre was so wound up, too much to go to sleep so he lay in the bed with its half rusted springs, and stared at the ceiling, counting the individual cells. His lights were out, but the buildings in this part of the city were too grossly packed and too lit at this time of night for him to think of darkness. Every sound made him jump for his gun on the desk. Especially the voices through the paper-thin walls. The boy finally gave up on trying to sleep and walked for his laptop.
"Hmm, someone trying to contact me?" the bronze-haired gundam pilot muttered to himself as he clicked on the mail icon with the name Trowa beside.
Dear Quatre,
My desert rose, when I woke up alone without you by myself I felt so empty to think that you were not by my side. It pains me to think that whatever the danger, you do not feel safe to come to me. That you do not feel you can trust me ad my intentions. Quatre, my sweet love, I would never do a thing to hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. You have gone and made a hole in my soul that I feel cannot be soothed by your assurances. Please Quatre, call me, email me, find some way to let me know how you are if not where.
Your anxious lover, Trowa
***
"Master Trowa?" was the tenacious invitation from his laptop. The dark haired boy looked up from his email account, of which he was so anxiously awaiting the arrival of his sweet Quatre's email. He knew the soft blond boy really was incompetent at refusing any request that Trowa might give him. Especially those where love was concerned.
"Rodriquez?" Trowa inquired when the servant didn't take his hint.
"You requested someone to clean this mess?"
"Yes," Trowa glanced in the direction of Rashiid's immobile body. "Please, don't let me bother you."
The Spaniard looked a little unnerved by the body and Trowa's calm resolve towards his actions, but gathered Rashiid into a zippered bag without any questions.
***
The blond boy slammed his notebook closed in a one of his rare fits of anger. It wasn't fair, how could Trowa not understand his pain. How could he not understand that if he responded to his stupid email he could be traced? It wasn't even unreasonable to think that someone somewhere was tracing his computer connection right now as he stared hazily at the screen? It was stupid to bring the notebook with him. It was stupid to run from an enemy he couldn't see. Stupid to cower in a corner from something while he should be plotting against whoever had forced this situation upon him.
Tiny tears began to stream down Quatre's face, and he caught one into a tight fist. It just wasn't goddamn fair.
***
"Hmph." Heero dismissed the red-haired woman with a coke in her hand. The Japanese boy couldn't for the life of him figure out how stewardesses were oblivious to some of his best death glares. They always approached him and asked him the same stupid questions. Time after time, "Would you like some Peanuts?" "How about a coke?" "How are you doing today?" "Do you know where the emergency life jackets are on the plane?"
Occasionally Heero would answer, "Yes, you stupid little fuck, I know where the hell the life preservers are. This is a military jet." And then the girl would run off crying into a corner while he glared. Occasionally he'd had his job threatened for such, but he knew that they would never actually fire one of their best spies for an issue so tiny as telling of a stewardess. And why were there stewardesses on military private planes anyways?
"Hmmm?" The Japanese boy gave his attention to the small computer screen in front of him. His attempts to hack into Quatre's email account were finally successful. This was a delightful, but necessary surprise. If it was anyone that Quatre knew, and Heero was fairly certain that this new threat was, he was sure that they would try and contact Quatre and coax him out of hiding. Heero just hoped the boy had enough sense not to answer…
Heero found what he was looking for and clicked rapidly on the envelope icon.
Dear Quatre,
My desert rose, when I woke up alone without you by myself I felt so empty to think that you were not by my side. It pains me to think that whatever the danger, you do not feel safe to come to me. That you do not feel you can trust me ad my intentions. Quatre, my sweet love, I would never do a thing to hurt, intentionally or unintentionally. You have gone and made a hole in my soul that I feel cannot be soothed by your assurances. Please Quatre, call me, email me, find some way to let me know how you are if not where.
Your anxious lover, Trowa
Heero tucked his head to his chest in shame as he pondered the situation. So then it is him who has made himself an enemy in me…