A small warning for violence and slight shounen-ai content here, but I'm sure any reader of mine can handle it. =^_~=
Disclaimer: I need one of those memorabilia stores that sells life-size cardboard cutouts of famous celebrities and movie characters. Why? Because I don't have any real Gundam pilots of my own, and I have to make them from scratch, that's why! *cries* I wonder how much paint it would take to turn a Han Solo cutout into a Trowa cutout...
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Episode Twenty-Nine: Cage Without Bars "The first thing you should procure, after faith, is a good friend." ~Arabic proverbDecember 8th, 1901 Treize frowned at the letter over his morning coffee, his third cup since eight o'clock. His subconscious wish may have been to stun enough of his brain cells that the letter would contain something else, something other than a recommendation from his solicitor that he settle his nasty little lawsuit out of court, but it wasn't working. It was going to cost him fifty pounds to square things with Duo, but in the long run, it would still be cheaper than trying to contest his so-called royal pardon in court. But what I wouldn't pay to find out where he got it, he mused. No common street rat like him has connections to the throne, any fool can see that. It's a lucky break that he's closely connected to Mr. Yuy...lucky for me, as well, because now I know what sort of connections he has. I may have misjudged his master. Few men in England could have pulled off such a-- For the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes, there was a sharp clanging in the walls, floor, and ceiling, pulsating through the pipes and heating ducts like a steel drum band playing a soup cauldron blindfolded. Trapped inside with the awful noise because of the increasingly bitter weather outside, Treize winced and fled his study with coffee in hand, looking for some corner of the house that still enjoyed a degree of silence. Downstairs in the boiler room, the source of the noise eventually dropped the flat piece of wood he was using to beat on the inside of the heating ducts. "Ah can't find anythin' wrong wi' it," Arthur said, wiping his brow and slapping his tweed cap back on. "If there was summat stuck in there, it should've fallen out by now." Standing next to him with his arms folded, Heero looked the massive boiler over with hopeless disdain. His and Duo's bedroom was like an igloo, and yet the housemaids, only one door down the hall, were toasty warm. Every other spot in the house had heat, and it was starting to feel like a conspiracy; there was, however, nothing at all wrong with the boiler itself, since both men had their jackets off and were slightly glazed with sweat from the ambient heat. "What other possibilities are there?" Heero asked. Arthur closed up the heating duct and started out of the hot, cramped boiler room. "Well now...maybe you've got leaks around th' windows. Have ye noticed a draft lately?" Heero shook his head and followed Arthur out. "No, and it got too cold too fast to be a slow loss of heat." "All the same, ah think ah'd bett'r have a look at it," Arthur said as he shut the door, blotting his face with his handkerchief and toddling off to the west stairs. "I'll see what I can find." Heero stared at the boiler room door, as if just glaring at it could restore heat to his room. He gave up quickly and headed out for cooler territory, but on his way to the kitchen to pick up his jacket, a slight movement on the edge of his vision slowed his gait. Shadow, 'his' kitten, and Duo's as well, was peeking up at him from behind the pantry door, which was slightly ajar. Baka...if someone shut the door, you'd be trapped in there. He reached down and picked Shadow up off the floor, thought for a moment, then put her back down again. Do you really follow me around? he asked in his mind, giving the cat a tiny questioning smirk. Keeping his eyes fixed on the feline, he slowly walked to the kitchen door and disappeared through it, breaking into a run up the stairs. His jacket forgotten, Heero bounded up to the second floor and prowled around looking for a place to hide; he chose a linens cupboard near Dorothy's room, with just enough space to stand inside. Exiting the empty hallway, he concealed himself in the cupboard, shut the door, and waited. Five minutes or so went by...then ten minutes, although it was difficult to tell without his watch. By fifteen minutes, he was starting to question his own sanity, hiding in a cupboard from a ten-ounce cat, but finally, his suspicion was confirmed. A little scratching sound was heard at the base of the door, and then a minute feline squeak. Heero opened the door in near amazement, and there was Shadow, having somehow followed him up two flights of stairs and through a maze of corridors. What Duo had said was true. "Remarkable," Heero breathed. Too impressed for further words, he picked Shadow up again and carried her downstairs to the kitchen. Such a marvellous display of tracking and agility certainly deserved some fresh tuna. **********Underneath her sly, calculating exterior, Dorothy had a genuinely fond heart that deeply missed Anna Maria during her long stay in the attic, so she had been overcompensating for their separation by spending every free moment cuddling her in some warm corner. However, this resulted in Relena being at a loose end more often than Dorothy intended, and she sought her out that morning to correct the error. As the Baroness rounded a corner on the main floor, peering into this room and that looking for her Ladyship, Otto came barrelling out of the parlour with balled fists and clomping footsteps, muttering angrily. She couldn't make out everything he said, which was just as well, but the words 'foolish girl' reached her ears nevertheless. "Otto!" she called out as he lumbered past her. "What's wrong? Is Relena in there?" She pointed daintily in the direction of the parlour, and Otto's dour expression worsened. "Only some of her," he snapped. "Her brain must be floating down the Thames, though, because it's certainly not under this roof!" Dorothy actually took a nervous step backwards, and the burly house steward forced himself to rein in his temper. "Forgive me, m'lady...she's sitting by the fire, but...maybe you can talk some sense into her, because she just won't listen to me anymore. I give up." Heaving a sigh, Otto resumed his course, slowly, in deep resignation. By now, Dorothy's curiosity was in overdrive, and the little steam engine that powered her appetite for snooping was pumping away voraciously. She stepped into the parlour and found Relena seated by the fire, just as Otto said, with her hair draped over the back of her chair and her hands folded, looking contemplative. Dorothy took the adjacent chair and smiled sweetly. "Staff problems?" "Otto doesn't want me to go to the opera tonight," Relena said. Her voice was steady and quiet, as was her calm posture; her decision appeared to have been firmly made, and nothing was going to change it. "I told him I was going with or without his approval. Then he left." "Why should he object to that?" Dorothy asked with obvious surprise. "And why didn't you tell me we were going out? It's awfully short notice, I must say." Relena smiled at the fire. "Because I'm taking Heero." She saw Dorothy's look of shock out of the corner of her eye and smiled wider. "I'm sorry. Next time it'll be just you and me, I promise." "M'lady," Dorothy addressed her, tersely and formally, "I'm not bothered about being left out, and at the same time, I'm afraid I have to agree with Otto! Proper ladies don't attend sophisticated leisurely pursuits with members of the staff, it just isn't done!" "After father died, I went everywhere with Otto, and nobody complained then," Relena countered, her voice rising slightly. Dorothy narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Yes, but we both know why you want to be alone with Heero, and that's what's improper about it. I really believed it was just a silly girlish crush you had on him, and that you'd grow out of it, but if I knew then that you were going to take it so seriously, I never would have encouraged you!" Relena snapped her head around, rapidly losing patience. "I won't be told by anyone who I can't be seen with, not even by you. I'm practically a woman now, and that means I ought to be making my own decisions about where I go, what I do, and with whom!" She calmed herself and turned back to the fire, glints of orange and gold flickering across her strangely darkened eyes. "Father's gone...there's no telling whether my brother will ever return...and I can't ask Treize to look after the estate indefinitely, he has his own responsibilities. I have to think of Bridlewood's future as well as my own, and the first step towards securing a future for the manor is to secure one for myself. Not only that, but...there's something about him...something I just can't explain." In her mind, there was nothing left to be said. Her reasons were sufficient and justifiable, and Dorothy saw no point in arguing with her, lest she jeopardize her nice, cushy lifestyle in favour of a hotel. They let the subject quietly drop. **********Heero waited until a little after lunch before suggesting that he and Duo make their way to the Muddy Nag. He explained along the way that when Catherine took over ownership of the pub, there had been a boxing ring set up in the basement, but she found the whole concept of boxing to be violent and offensive, and thus had all the equipment removed except for the mats. Since then, she used the room for parties, meetings, and with ample notice from Heero plus a little extra cash, a karate dojo. Once he convinced her that the kernel philosophy of karate was one of non-violence, he gained himself a nice private practice arena. Upon arrival via hansom cab, they strode into the pub, greeted Catherine, and headed straight downstairs. The basement had been fitted with electric lights, which probably took up most of her profits just to operate a few hours a week, but she never turned down extra rent money, so it balanced out nicely. It looked like any other basement, with exposed wooden supports in the walls and ceiling, and a hardwood floor installed over concrete. It showed various watermarks from past times when the rain had built up and invaded the pub. Heero walked over to a tall wooden cupboard, an old converted wine case, and opened it, taking out a soft-edged parcel wrapped in brown butcher's paper and tied with string. He brought it over to Duo and placed it in his hands, then gingerly unwrapped it for him. Inside was something made out of a brilliant white fabric, thick and soft like terry cloth, but with a resilience strangely unlike the material. "This is your gi," Heero told him. "You will wear this during your training, and it will not leave the pub. Laundering will be taken care of by Catherine, as per my existing agreement with her." Next, he handed Duo his room key; by that time, the chef was practically drooling over the gift. "You can change upstairs in my room while I set up down here, and again after practice. You will not leave your gi crumpled in a heap on the floor like you do all your other clothes." Duo grinned. "Perish the thought." With an eyebrow raised in unspoken doubt, Heero lifted up the top portion of the gi, revealing a second part underneath. In between the pieces was a length of very sturdy fabric, in the same pristine white, strongly stitched and not more that two inches wide. He took it out and held it separate from the rest of the bundle. "This is your obi. The gi may need to be replaced eventually from normal wear and tear, but the obi is stronger, and is yours for life...or until the first day you give it to Shadow for a chew toy." Duo stuck his tongue out at the remark. "Credit me with some sense, Heero-sensei." While Duo skipped happily upstairs to change, Heero rolled his eyes, took his own gi out of the cupboard, and changed into it on the spot. It showed a bit of wear in places, but it was hardly his first; his belt, however, was far from it's original white, and had turned a dull grey colour over the last six years of use. As he was setting up the practice mats, a part of him was hoping that Duo could figure out how to wear his uniform properly, but when the chef bounced back down the stairs, it was obvious, albeit only to the trained eye, that he had tied his obi incorrectly. "How do I look?" Duo asked, proudly displaying himself in the white cotton suit with arms outstretched. Heero looked him over and shook his head once. "Close, but not quite." Ignoring Duo's puzzled look, he stepped forward and nonchalantly grasped the boy's belt where a single, clumsy knot had been tied after wrapping the length of cloth about him only once. He untied it for him, instructing him to keep his arms slightly raised, then walked out of his field of vision. Duo felt his teacher creep up close behind him and couldn't suppress a shiver of excitement that started at his belly button and spread rapidly up his spine, and then, feeling Heero arms brush his waist nearly made him pass out. His only defence against the white-hot impulses of pleasure pounding through his nervous system was to close his eyes and think of baseball. Reaching around with both hands, Heero centered the obi in front of Duo's waist, snugly wrapped it twice around the boy's middle, and secured it in the front again with a double overhand knot. "Is that too tight?" Duo failed to answer, locked in a dreamy trance that just got warmer and deeper the longer Heero stood with his arms around him. "Are you paying attention?" Heero barked sharply. "Huh? Wha--oh! Yeah! I got it, thanks," Duo stammered. "Did I tie it too tight for you?" Heero repeated with a note of exasperation. "No, no, feels great!" Duo insisted, taking a deep breath to demonstrate his ease of movement. "Never felt better." The chef quickly composed himself, and the training began. His first lessons were very simple, covering the most basic things he needed to know about philosophy, discipline, bowing, and the overall code of behaviour for the dojo. Nearly an hour passed before they got to the serious stuff. "What I'm going to begin teaching you today," Heero said, "is a new method known as shotokan. It's very important that you not show these techniques to anyone else, except in battle." Duo's eyes lit up. "Whoa...is it top-secret? Highly experimental?" "Unofficial would be a better description. Master Funakoshi may still be refining it to this day, although my own training hasn't been updated since I left Lord Jeffrhyss. There may have been significant advances in the last ten months, but you won't reach that level for some time anyway." Duo folded his arms and pondered. "What level am I?" "You don't have a level. You'll be working towards eighth kyu." "What level are you?" "I attained first kyu two years ago." "What's the difference?" Heero paused, with a curiously devious look that made Duo tremble slightly. The next thing he saw was Heero's arm shooting out towards his shoulder, and suddenly his legs were flying out from under him as well. The wooden ceiling swirled in front of Duo's eyes, and before he knew what was happening, he was flat on his back on the mat and in no small amount of pain. He yelped and gasped, blinking away the brightly coloured lights that seemed to throb in unison with the ringing in his ears. "That's the difference," Heero said. ".......ow." Once Duo had full use of his senses back, Heero helped him up off the mat, and the braided boy put on a brave, macho face as if the fall hadn't hurt him in the slightest. Heero smirked. This could be a rather interesting use of an afternoon, he thought. "We'll start with some simple blocks. Watch me carefully." Duo grinned in satisfaction as the real lessons got underway, after a lengthy series of stretches. As they worked, Heero became increasingly impressed at what a quick learner Duo was; in a very short time, he could reasonably execute four different blocks and demonstrate five different stances, and Heero began thinking that this was an even better idea than Duo had made it out to be. The lessons ended all too quickly for both of them, however, since they had to be back at the manor by a decent hour. Again, Duo was sent upstairs to change, but before he went, Heero actually voiced his approval of the boy's performance that afternoon, especially for one's first lesson ever. That alone was worth all the little bruises Duo had accumulated during the blocking practice. When he raced up the stairs to the main floor, Duo saw that the sun was setting, and they'd actually been at it longer than they had planned, but his thirst was far from quenched. Heero's actually proud of me! Alright, maybe he didn't use those exact words, but I can tell! I'm not gonna slack off on these lessons. I'll work harder than I ever have before in my life, if only to make him really proud to have me as his student! He was so wrapped up in self-congratulatory thoughts as he changed back into his dark suit and frock coat that he nearly didn't notice the large, flat book poking out from under the bed in Heero's rented room. Duo blinked and crouched down to look at it; then, ignoring the tiny voice that told him to walk away and leave it alone, he pulled it out. It was a scrapbook, and inside were a myriad of newspaper clippings, some of which he'd seen before, at a time when he couldn't read them; now, however, he could, and he quickly ascertained that the name 'Khushrenada' appeared in a significant number of them, even the ones that weren't written in English. He was honestly about to put the book away, having discovered it's purpose, when an article on the very last page caught his eye, out of place amongst the tales of international subterfuge. Heero had kept the clipping detailing the execution of Leon Czolgosz on October 29th, the 50th person to be put to death in the electric chair by the state of New York. Duo stared. He must realize that he was this close to being in that electric chair himself...if he had pulled the trigger...and if he'd been caught...he'd be dead now. A cold feeling gripped Duo, soon overcome by a much warmer one, the knowledge that it had been him of all people, a poor street rat with no future, who had plucked Heero from the jaws of death, and that they had found a peculiar new life in each other as a result of it. It felt strange, taking joy from an event so horrible as the President's death...but look where we are now. Best friends...and aiming to stay that way, if I can get certain other parts of my brain under control. The last thing I want is to ruin our friendship by trying to squeeze too much out of it. Duo smiled and put the scrapbook back where he found it. He folded his gi and obi as neatly as he could, and carried them back downstairs to his teacher, feeling better and better with each step. **********Overall, Quatre's day was going fairly well. There was little stress, even less noise, and he had more time to work on the conservatory since he wouldn't be eating until sunset. As he had grown up in the lap of luxury back home, the ritual fasting his family engaged in towards the end of the year only meant that he did without food, but now that he had a real occupation, something useful to do with his eyes and hands, he saw clearly how much of the average work day was frittered away on food and sleep. He was exceptionally productive, trimming dead twigs off various indoor plants, right up until Hilde and Trowa came in to find him. Hilde was carrying a plain white envelope, and both wore expressions of concern. Quatre sensed their troubled spirits and rose from his work. "What is it?" he asked. Hilde held out the envelope. "This just arrived for you. The doorbell rang, and there was a little boy on the front step. He said someone paid him five shillings to take this up to our front door." Quatre's eyed widened as he took the object from her. Five shillings was a lot of money for a small boy; only a very wealthy person could afford such an extraordinary delivery charge...someone with the money to travel great distances, for example. "Who paid him? Was it a man or a woman?" "I asked him, but he didn't know," she said with an apologetic shrug. "He said the person was all bundled up in black fabric, so he couldn't tell." They all looked at the envelope, and finally Quatre tore it open anxiously. No sense in delaying the inevitable. He pulled out a single sheet covered in the same scribblings Trowa had seen twice before, which pretty much confirmed his fears. "It's from Shareefa," Quatre stated. "She's in town and wants to see me, tonight. She says she's desperately trying to get away from the rest of the family, and could I please help her hide until the fighting slows down..." Trowa resisted the urge to snatch the letter and have a look at it himself. "Where does she want to meet?" "She gives an address, but I don't know where it is," Quatre said. "We'll have to ask Doris or Bethany." "You're not seriously going to go, are you?" Hilde exclaimed. "What if it's a trap? After what happened in the pub, how can you trust any of your sisters?" "Because if Shareefa is telling the truth, and dies because I didn't help her, I'll never forgive myself!" Quatre insisted. "Besides, I'll have Trowa with me, and I'm sure we can sneak two swords out of the house. If anything goes awry, we'll subdue Shareefa peacefully and bring her back with us." Hilde shook her head, eyes downcast. "I don't like this one bit. I'd feel better if Heero were going with you." "Well, we're just going to have to struggle along without him," Trowa said sarcastically, "because his social schedule doesn't have room for our problems anymore. I have to drive him and Miss Relena to the opera tonight, but then we can take the carriage to wherever this mystery address is. We'll have weapons, transportation, and the element of surprise, since there's two of us, and she'll only be expecting one. We don't need Heero." The boys exchanged a knowing glance; neither of them completely trusted Heero, and they wouldn't until he came clean about a few things, mostly having to do with Count Khushrenada. Quatre nodded. "Agreed. We're going to meet her, and we're going to be ready for anything." **********In three days, Relena had changed her mind on what Heero should wear to the opera no less than twelve times, but what he had on at six-thirty would have to be the final variation, because they were out of time. Her Ladyship finally settled on his formal black coat with the tails, a white waistcoat and bow tie, purchased new for the occasion, and a black silk top hat from the attic, which Heero forced himself to endure in spite of a passionate dislike for all hats without exception. They were fine on other people's heads, just not his. Relena absolutely had to buy herself a fine new dress for the evening, one made up of layer upon layer of deep turquoise satin and bone-white lace. The dark colour was an unusual change for her, as she often favoured innocent-looking pastels; also, there was minimal ornamentation on the bodice of the dress, hardly any frills or ruffles, which was another dramatic departure. It was, without question, the most 'grown-up'-looking gown in her entire wardrobe. As they prepared to leave, many of the household gathered in the front hall to bid them farewell, except for Treize and Otto, who were strongly engaged with sulking in the study. Heero hung a little bit back from the others, for there were only Dorothy and the housemaids left, and they were heartily admiring Relena's new dress, in which he had no particular interest. He stood off to the side, uncomfortably holding the alien top hat in both hands, until a playfully gruff voice punched a hold in the thick, shapeless tedium. "You be sure to have her back by midnight, young man," Duo joked. "Hn." The butler-turned-escort tugged at the white tie that was slowly choking him. "I'm sorry you couldn't come along, but I have something for you to do while I'm gone." Duo's eyes brightened as he prepared to receive his instructions. "I want you to contact Dr. Poole and ask for her help regarding..." Heero let his voice trail away to nothing; they both knew what he meant, and Relena was only a few feet away. Standing there yakking about her father's death would be, at the very least, rude. Duo nodded. "No problem, you just go on, enjoy your evening, and I'll have a nice quiet time on the phone, talking to Sally and waiting for my ribs to knit back together." He cradled his torso with a comedic wince, followed by a smile that said he was just fine after their first sparring practice. Heero nodded back faintly, but their time was cut short as Relena called out to him. "Time to go!" He grudgingly put on his top hat and joined her at the door, just in time for the pack of giggling girls to herd them outside and into the carriage. Trowa was up top in his best coachman's uniform, but in the growing darkness, nobody could see the small black bundle huddled next to him. Even Heero missed it. The elegant pair boarded the carriage, and a snap of the reins later, they were on their way. The housemaids stood out on the step and waved until they were gone, then went inside, leaving Duo and Dorothy gazing after. Remembering that he had a job to do, Duo didn't stay long. For only a minute or two, Dorothy was alone in front of the massive brick mansion, enjoying the crisp night air, until a shuffling noise drew her eyes right; walking along the same path as Relena's carriage was a tall, heavyset, broad-shouldered hulk of a man, wearing drab clothes intended to help him blend into the lower-class crowd. His face was barely distinguishable from that of an angry bulldog, and he hadn't shaved in a day or two; Dorothy wrinkled her nose in distaste and fled for the safety of the manor. What Dorothy had no way of knowing was that the man had been lurking just past the hedge for the last hour or more, and had seen the black bundle crawl into the driver's bench alongside Trowa. She also couldn't have known that he was no ordinary street thug, but one of Lady Une's 'specialists', a day early and already hard at work following his target. **********Duo knew instinctively that he was going to do a great job for Heero. He could feel it in his bones--underneath the bruises--and the thought of impressing him twice in one day gave him a seriously pleasant buzz. As soon as he knew the other members of the household were too far away to hear him, he went to the telephone in the hall, sitting on it's Chippendale table...and looked at it. I have to call Sally. He looked at the phone some more, studied the earpiece and the tall speaker stand, then stared blankly at the ensemble, waiting for divine inspiration. I still have to call Sally. The terrifying thought occurred to him that he had absolutely no concept of how to use the telephone. That particular technology was a privilege of the privileged, and he'd never even laid eyes on one before coming to Bridlewood. He took a deep breath and slackened his shoulders, picking up the device. No, I can do this. Seen people work this thing dozens of time. Nothing to it. He raised the earpiece to his ear, and while he was wondering what his next action should be, he had an unexpected breakthrough. "What number, please?" a tinny English woman's voice crackled through the wire. Duo froze. He didn't know what number he wanted. He just wanted Sally. He didn't even know where the leaflet was that she had given them. It could've been anywhere in the house by then. The boy's mouth moved slightly, but no sound emerged. "Hello? What number, please?" The chef shook himself out of the trance and blubbered. "I...I'm sorry, I changed my mind." He slapped the phone down with a sharp clunk. Great. Now what? Thinking over his position, he realized that there were no meals left to be prepared that day, so it wasn't likely anyone would miss him if he slipped out for awhile, especially with Relena gone. I'll have to go talk to her in person, he thought, and with that, he went downstairs to fetch his coat. **********Relena's carriage pulled gently through Covent Garden to the Royal Opera House, where a long line of fabulous vehicles were dropping off London's elite to enjoy the show. As they passed by the poorer section of the neighbourhood, where the fruit and vegetable market stood, Heero couldn't help remembering Duo's words upon taking in the lavishness of Bridlewood on his first night there: 'It beats a packing case in Covent Garden.' At that moment, he wondered how many more Duos and Hildes were watching their carriage roll by from the shadows, and how many of them would get the same lucky breaks in life. Trowa let the pair off right at the front entrance to the grand, ornately pillared building, then drove away so the next carriages in line could let their passengers disembark. Because of their youth, Heero and Relena drew many stares, but they were peppered with whispers of 'Peacecraft' and 'Bridlewood', and the crowd parted to let them past. Relena hung onto Heero's arm in a very ladylike fashion, all through the lobby and up the gilded staircase to their private box. Reminiscing again, Heero noted how much it was like the box at the Temple of Music in Buffalo, then quickly quashed the thought; he had no desire to remember that day, not now, not ever again. "Oh, isn't it beautiful?" Relena cooed as she admired the red velvet bench. She specifically requested the bench rather than separate seats, and was pleased that her request, as well as her money, had been honoured. "I could sit up here all day and all night and not get tired of that view!" They sat down, and Heero had a look at the 'view' for himself; they had an excellent view of the stage, and a reasonable view of the throng of aristocrats below, taking their seats and thumbing through the evening programme. It was a full house for that evening's performance of Beethoven's Fidelio, an opera set in Spain, yet sung in German. Once they were settled with the door behind them shut and locked, Relena leaned close to her companion and made another important request. "I'm sorry to say, I don't speak a word of German, so I'd like you to tell me what's going on in the story, alright?" Heero tried not to look surprised out of politeness. "Yes, m'lady." "You don't have to translate every word, just give me the gist of it. Only you'll have to whisper quite close to my ear, because we mustn't disturb anyone." She smiled and scooted a little closer to him, to make his job easier. "And do I have to remind you again to call me Relena while we're out on social occasions?" Heero couldn't fathom exactly who he might be bothering forty feet up in the box, but he knew that once she was in one of her authoritative moods, there was no questioning her judgement. He was perfectly able to translate, and translate he would, if that was what she required of him. "My apologies, Relena." "Not at all." They engaged in the usual light conversation until the house lights were lowered, and the overture was begun. It was one marvellous piece of music after another throughout the introduction and the first act; the singers and the orchestral players were at the top of their field. The opening scene was a Spanish prison, so the sets and costumes weren't the most glamourous to be seen, but they were real, and very convincing. As the story progressed, Heero dutifully leaned over to Relena and whispered key points about the plot. "The jailer's assistant is actually the prisoner's wife, in disguise. She is a noblewoman of Seville. Her husband has been jailed for political reasons, and is close to death. She's come here in secret to find him before his execution." Relena gasped dramatically and clutched the front of her gown above her heart. "Oh! It must be truly wonderful to love someone that much...to be willing to risk your safety for theirs. That's what real love is about, isn't it? Protecting each other from danger? I admire this woman, more than you can possibly know..." Heero thought there was something a trifle odd about the what she said, as well as how she said it. A simple comment on the story or the music would be understandable, but a dissertation on what love meant to her, however short, was not what he expected. Relena was rivetted to every sound and movement coming from the character of Leonore, who was disguised as Fidelio, the errand boy of the prison, and hung on Heero's words as he talked her through the rest of the act. "Who's that?" "Pizarro, the governor of the prison. Leonore has brought a message that the minister of state is coming to inspect the facility, so he's decided to kill her husband ahead of schedule." Relena dabbed at her misty eyes with her lace handkerchief. "Oh no, how awful..." The girl was getting wrapped up in the story, almost too wrapped up to remember why she had arranged this evening alone with Heero, in front of that particular opera, but the brave Leonore's aria nearly sent her over the edge. "What's she saying?" "She's praying for hope, and the strength to save her husband from the governor's wrath." Enraptured by the prima donna's lilting song, Relena clung to Heero's arm, and stayed there for the entire rest of the first act. "It's so wonderful that she believes so strongly in her love. It's so much more than most people have in life...sometimes it's all there is to live for. I'm sure that's how she feels right now..." Heero tried not to move, and in fact, wasn't sure if he should do anything at all. This Relena was similar to the one he was used to, and yet somehow different; in the past, she had talked his ear off about tea parties, fancy hats, the latest designer gowns, and the weather in the English Channel, but never so deeply about love. It was unsettling. **********About a block and a half from the opera house, Trowa gave Quatre a nudge to let him know it was safe to unfurl himself from the black cloak he was hiding under. Just as they had hoped, neither Heero nor Relena had any idea that he was riding along with them, which gave them a clear, easy feeling about absconding with her carriage for an hour or so. They rode through the sparsely-driven streets, illuminated on either side by gaslights on lampposts, following the directions Bethany had given them to the address in Shareefa's letter. Only the horses knew that, somewhere between the manor and the opera house, they had picked up some extra weight that was secretly riding on the back rail. They stopped the carriage at a convenient spot by the side of the road, in a commercial area with shops on either side of the street, then jumped down to the ground. Trowa took a long, thin bundle out from where his feet had rested and unwrapped it, revealing two gleaming rapiers taken from their display case at the manor. They each took one and fastened it to a leather strap on their belt; Trowa hand-made them specifically for that purpose, a skill he learned living with the pirates. "Now...which way?" Quatre looked at the directions more closely, then started examining shop numbers. The address Shareefa gave them was a few doors down from the carriage, an antique store featuring various Napoleonic artifacts in the front window. Upon closer inspection, a small sign said 'Back Door', and indeed, the front door was soundly locked. "I guess we'll have to try the back," Quatre admitted. They walked several steps in either direction, but the antique shop had another shop bordering it on each side, with no room in between. It was a solid row of eight or nine shops in all, and the only way around the back was a poorly lit alleyway. "Naturally," Trowa said snidely. "She wouldn't have us visit her anyplace where there might be witnesses." "Don't be so cynical," Quatre admonished him gently. "Let's not make judgements about why she's here until we actually find her." As the two boys crept around to the alley's entrance, the extra weight on the back of the carriage jumped off, surprisingly silent for the vast amount of weight it represented, and followed them at a distance. Once or twice, Quatre thought he felt a presence on their heels, but convinced himself that it was his over-active imagination playing tricks on him in a time of moderate stress. As they stepped into the alley, Quatre pulled the hood of the black cloak over his head, according to their plan, so that only Trowa's face was visible. He latched onto Trowa's arm after buttoning the cloak the rest of the way down, so as to conceal his true figure as much as possible. The casual observer would think they were a young couple on a moonlight stroll. When they were too far into the alley to turn back easily, a slight figure in dark clothes emerged from around the corner, also wearing a black hood. The three approached each other cautiously, and the lone figure stopped after a few steps. "What business have you here?" a woman's voice asked. It was a low, sweet voice, with a slight accent. Quatre broke away from his bodyguard and whipped off his hood, face shining with hope. "Shareefa?" The opposing hood was also lowered, although much more slowly, revealing a pretty, dark-haired woman with sea green eyes. "Greetings, my brother," she sang softly. Shareefa eyed Trowa suspiciously for a bit, then smiled at Quatre. "I didn't expect you to bring a friend. Isn't there someplace where we can talk...privately?" When he was halfway to where Shareefa was standing, Quatre paused and studied her, using his sixth sense against one of his own just as he had sworn not to. His face fell and he suddenly dashed back behind Trowa, who stepped forward menacingly and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Shareefa seemed to understand, and her expression turn from sweet to acrid in a heartbeat; one hand disappeared under her dark cloak, and emerged with a sword of her own, a scimitar with a jewelled handle, confirming that she hadn't come thousands of miles just for a friendly chat. She lunged at Trowa, and the battle began. The two squared off and took carefully measured swings at each other, though Trowa's were much more surgical owing to Quatre's insistence that he not harm Shareefa unless one of their lives was in immediate danger. While the two swords clashed over and over, Quatre centred himself behind his champion and tried desperately to talk her out of it. "Shareefa, you don't have to do this! Father's will means nothing! It was Hassan who put him up to the tontine, any court will see that once we pull the family back together and confront this like adults!" "I will not return without your blood on this sword!" she hollered. "Do you know what will happen to me if I don't prevail with the tontine and claim the fortune? I'm to be sold like so much cattle into an arranged marriage! I won't have it!" Her slashing movements became more pronounced, but Trowa kept up with her nicely; he had youth and experience on his side. "Then come back with us!" Quatre shouted. "We can hide you, and anyone else who doesn't want a part of this! I don't care how much money is at stake, it's not worth destroying our family!" He promised himself he wouldn't cry, but he was cutting it awfully close. The situation was much more intense than he had anticipated, so much so that he was too focused on Trowa and Shareefa to notice a fourth person skulking into the alley and moving slowly towards them. "He's right," Trowa said breathlessly between blocks, "there's plenty of room in our house for any of you who want to live there peacefully." Shareefa paused and stood back to catch her breath, glaring at Trowa. "You don't know what you're talking about, infidel!" she spat. "Now, step aside, or make your peace with God." She called out over her shoulder, some fast, liquid words that Trowa didn't understand, and Quatre was immediately tugging on his arm. In the blink of an eye, three much larger figures in black came out from the depths of the alley, all with swords drawn. Reluctantly, Quatre found his own weapon, buried clumsily in the folds of his cloak, and stood beside his friend, altogether thinking that this wasn't such a bright idea after all. All four lunged at Quatre, and both boys found themselves hacking away at anything that moved, but making vary little progress. Shareefa had hired professionals as backup, and they gained the advantage within seconds. Trowa and Quatre were backed up against the wall, and the three swordsmen opened a gap in their battle front to allow Shareefa a clear shot at her brother. She raised her scimitar to deliver the death blow, but out of nowhere, before she could strike, came a swift, clunky arm that knocked aside one of her flanking men and caught her by the elbow. Shareefa gasped audibly as the meaty hand twisted her arm around, and suddenly her trio of guards turned on the newcomer. The boys were aghast and shrank away as the strange figure became clear; it was a massive brick wall of a man whom they had never seen before, and they might not have liked knowing that they gave him a lift in their carriage without realizing it. He immediately started thrashing around, throwing punches and kicks at the four pipsqueaks with butter knives, and the alley became a much more dangerous place to be. Suddenly enraged that a stranger should be threatening his blood relative, Quatre leapt on the man and tried to drag him away from his sister, but just ended up being dragged away himself by Trowa, who saw that it was a lost cause. That one man had the strength of at least three. "Traitor!" Shareefa cried as the menacing hulk closed in on her. "What is this? What treachery have you done to me!? I have no brother!!" Since the man was only fighting her and her men while leaving the boys alone, she naturally assumed that Quatre hired him. "Shareefa, no! I didn't!!" Quatre cried. He ran forward, trying to rejoin the battle, but Trowa held him back. The boys began fighting each other, in a way, Quatre struggling to free himself from his bodyguard's grip, and Trowa fulfilling his first duty, which was to his friend's safety and nothing else. The mystery man knocked down one of the swordsmen and took his weapon, then advanced on the woman in black, expertly deflecting the swords of the two guards remaining. Soon, it was just him and Shareefa, and Trowa dragged his charge, still on his feet and kicking wildly, away from the scene with all his strength. There was no way of knowing what the man's motives were, or if he might turn on them once he was finished with the foreigners. As he forcibly wrestled Quatre out of the alley, they heard the clashing of metal, several thumps, and a bone-chilling scream that tore the boy's heart in two. Quatre leaned forward as far as he could in Trowa's iron grip and screamed at the dead-silent alley. "Shareefa!!" There was no reply. The battle was finished. Quatre collapsed in agony, clutching the front of his shirt and whimpering as he felt his sister's lifeforce vacate the spot it had occupied in his consciousness, the place where he kept his sixth sense. He wished to heaven that the gift would be stripped from him, if only to end his suffering. "Get up!" Trowa whispered shakily. "We have to get out of here!" He nudged Quatre, but the boy was unresponsive and unmoving, except for the pitiful sobs stabbing his lungs. Finally, he picked Quatre up and ran, stumbling less than gracefully to the carriage with the slim gardener draped over his shoulders. He couldn't leave him alone in the passenger section, so he piled the shaking lad back into the driver's bench and cracked the reins, taking off like a golden bullet into the night. **********Relena didn't want to leave the private box during the intermission, and insisted that Heero not leave either unless he absolutely had to, the end result being that they were right where they were supposed to be when the second act started. Florestan, Leonore's imprisoned husband, had a dream in which Leonore rescued him from his terrible fate, then awoke to find himself alone again. Leonore found herself helping the jailer to dig her husband's grave, but at the last moment, when the governor dashed forward to finish Florestan off with a dagger, Leonore drew a gun and threatened to shoot the man, at her own peril, in order to save her beloved. All the while during the torrent of song and the quiet whispers in English, Relena was inching closer and closer to Heero, using the excuse that the music was overwhelming the softness of his voice, and she couldn't hear him. The trumpets blared, heralding the arrival of the minister of state to the prison, and at that moment, Relena took her eyes off the stage, latched onto Heero's eyes, and refused to let go. "I didn't choose this opera by accident, Heero," she admitted without any hint of guilt. "I wanted you to know that this is how I think...that this is what I believe the bond between a man and a woman should be, one of selfless love and total sacrifice. Do you understand?" Without waiting for him to answer, she leaned in closer, putting a hand on his shoulder and angling her face beneath his. "She vowed to protect him, just as you've promised to protect me, but there's still so much room to grow from there. It doesn't have to be the limit. It doesn't have to be mistress and servant between us, not forever." Heero squirmed slightly, then a little bit more, then located her other hand, the one he had foolishly lost track of--it had somehow found it's way to his knee. He swallowed, a total reflex action. "Miss Relena..." "I wanted you to know that I'm very much like Leonore, even though I don't often act like it. When I have something worth protecting, I fight for it, and I just wanted you to know that if you've ever been holding back from me on purpose because you thought I was too immature to understand you, I'm not like that." Her eyes were intense, and her unusually forceful posture indicated that she wasn't budging until her point was made, or until her demands had been satisfied, whichever occurred first. "Tell me...what does 'Fidelio' mean?" She already knew the answer, just like she knew the entire plot of the opera before she even set foot in her carriage. "It means 'faithful love', m'lady," Heero answered. "Faithful love," the girl repeated. "It made their marriage stronger than jail, stronger than death...and that's exactly what I'm going to bring into my marriage someday. It's what father would have wanted, to see me well looked-after, and never to be alone. You do understand me, don't you?" No. "Yes." "Good." She delicately removed her hands from his person, and Heero exhaled. Who was this strong young woman sitting beside him? It certainly wasn't the same girl who hired him on the basis of warm words and smooth tea, and who would bend to his every will when just the right kind of pressure was applied. Now he was the one in the box, being manipulated to suit the will of another, but to exactly what end, Heero couldn't tell. All he was certain of was that the opera was mercifully coming to a close; Leonore had saved her beloved Florestan, and all the prisoners were freed, which meant Heero would soon be freed, albeit only for a little while. The joyous music filled the house with a devastating volume, and Relena latched onto his arm and sighed at the beauty of it all; she would stay at his side until they were home again, and would not be dissuaded. **********Duo spent a little extra time at Sally's, more than he'd expected, but he needed an adult to talk to, one who wasn't living in the same house with him. First, he completed his task for Heero by giving her all the gory details about their visit to the sanitarium, including what little they knew about Lord Peacecraft's death and the pills he may have been taking at the time. She promised to look into the matter, after which Duo had a lot of other things to discuss with her, on a semi-professional level, mostly about Heero. If he'd had a mother to talk to, or Helen, they would have been the first to know if he was confused about life in general, but in lieu of either one of them, Sally did just fine. He left her office a little wiser and a little more confident, and carried her promise with him to show Heero that he'd done a good job. It was much later than he realized when he walked out into the street, and there were a lot fewer cabs milling about now that he had money with which to hire them; the irony was painful, but walking home would be worse. He opted to scan a few corners for signs of life, and if there was no alternative, he still had the key to Heero's room at the Muddy Nag, and felt sure he could walk at least that far. Wandering down this street and that took him in the direction he hoped would lead him to shelter, and every now and then he walked down a side street to a different main road to see if he could spot a cab. At the corner of one road in particular, he stopped...and listened. There was a distant sound of hoofbeats on cobblestones, faster than normal, and they were getting louder very, very fast. By the time he saw the source of the clattering, banging, neighing sound, it was too late. A posh-looking carriage careened through the intersection at breakneck speed, driven by... ...Trowa? It certainly didn't resemble Trowa's clean driving record, as the carriage almost crashed into a store front, and would have, had the horses not reared up in protest. People all up and down the street shouted down from their second-story windows to keep the bloody noise down, then disappeared back into their bedchambers. The carriage was stopped, a good fifty yards away, and Duo sprinted up to it to see what was the matter. "What's going on!? What's the big--oh geez..." Duo saw what the matter was. Seated up on the bench next to Trowa was a shattered mess that used to be a pale blond gardener. Trowa had his arms around Quatre who was shaking and sobbing, and looked very much like he was about to be sick all over the velvet cushions. "What happened?" Trowa didn't turn his head away from his quivering patient, but recognized the chef's voice. "We were meeting one of his sisters...some street thug joined in...it got out of hand..." In between his sobs and rocking back and forth on the bench, Quatre choked out his confession. "Shareefa....killed her......all my fault!" Trowa looked helplessly at Duo. "We had to get away before someone called the police, or before that thug came after us next...I can't drive properly with him in this condition, and I was supposed to be back at the opera house ten minutes ago! We can't show up like this, or Relena will know something's not right!" "I c-can't ride in this thing anymore," Quatre whimpered, "I feel too sick." "Let me have him," Duo said quickly, holding his hands up to help the boy down off the carriage. "You go get Heero and Relena, I'll take care of him." Trowa shook his head. "He just wants to go home!" "I'll get him home! Quit panicking!" "...please...stop," Quatre said, fumbling towards the edge of the bench. "I'll go with Duo, I just...can't stay in this thing." Trowa reluctantly handed his friend over to Duo's less than expert care, with a multitude of promises that the chef would get Quatre home in in fewer pieces than he appeared to be at that moment. The carriage pulled away, much more steadily this time, and disappeared down the road to collect the lucky ones from the theater. "You okay, buddy?" Duo asked. The gardener moaned faintly. Duo hooked Quatre's arm over his shoulders, checked the street signs against his mental map of London, and decided the best place for now would be the Muddy Nag for a warm fire and a soothing environment. If the worst happened, and Quatre was still too sick to make it back to Bridlewood, at least there was a place for him to crash for the night. "Yeah, I know, one hell of a night. That's okay. If I'd seen what you just saw, I wouldn't feel like talking either. Don't worry, pal, I'll look after ya." The two battered warriors padded slowly down the cobbled street, looking for a little shelter from the madness of the world, and Duo felt surprisingly relaxed. It felt like the toughest part of the night was over for everyone, and whatever else happened until dawn was just frosting. |
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Next, in Episode Thirty: As most of the house joyously prepares for the Christmas season, Duo reminisces about the closest thing to a loving parent he ever had, and Relena looks for ways to make her first Christmas as an orphan a little more bearable. Sally has key information after a week of subtle inquiries, but in order to re-gain the trust of those around him, Heero can't keep it to himself.
There's a lot going on in this episode, I'm surprised I crammed it all in! =@_@= Hope you're all getting your Christmas shopping done, but if you need a breather, mark down Dececmber 16th on your calendars for Episode 30! =^_^= Ja ne!