Thought Patterns
Chapter Two: Version Two
It's 12:57 when we run into the Preventer hanger, panting.
Evan and Andy seem to have beaten us here -- for vividly obvious reasons -- and they're both laughing at us. Duo flips them the bird.
"Late much?" Evan asks, still smirking. "You completely missed the boarding call. We had to speculate on what was keeping you all by ourselves."
Andy joins in. "Yeah. We were just talking about a freak meteor shower when you ran through the doors."
Duo and I glance at one another.
Maybe I should mention that no one knows we're the former Gundam pilots. Imagine the havoc that choice piece of information would wreak. Half the people we work with fought against us during the war.
The other half probably know someone we killed.
Needless to say, there are a few words and phrases that we previous pilots (and all of those who know about us) watch out for.
Duo's the first to recover. "I think you might have noticed something like that going on." He grins. "Y'know; maybe a little."
Andy and Evan laugh.
"Anyway," Andy continues, "what were you guys doing all this time?" he asks, playful smirk on his face. Remind me to punch him later, okay?
"We were running on schedule," I reply, rolling my eyes expressively as Duo sticks his tongue out at me. "Then, about halfway here, Duo realized he left his laptop at the apartment." How he managed that, I'll never know, but whatever. Just another of his bloody quirks.
"Good job!" Andy congratulates, slapping Duo on the back warmly, at which Duo sticks his tongue out again. I'm slightly disappointed -- he's usually more creative than that.
We settle in on the plane and Andy and Evan waste no time filling us in on the mission. It's a bunker that failed its regulatory check, then started spouting anarchic jibber-jabber, then decided talk was cheap and decided to fight back. Unfortunately, they actually had a bit of intelligence and have kicked the minor division's asses. Some of the higher-ups in the organization are from a group that Andy and Evan have been tailing for a while, and they're no laughing matter. So we're sent in with the sling. Yay, clean up crew?
Now, apparently, they have intelligence and ego, plus the weapons and technology our forsaken forces left behind, and are pissing off the uppers of the government. Not good people to piss off: I should know.
The flight should take another couple hours, so we're forced into something vaguely resembling celibacy from violence -- and entertainment -- as we sit back to wait. I wander into an empty cabin in order to procure silence, and am thus surprised and slightly disheartened when company arrives. Unexpectedly.
"So, Heero," a voice cajoles from somewhere near my left ear and I find an amused-looking Evan standing next to me.
So, Heero, what? "Yeah?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"How long before you tell him?" he asks, dropping his somewhat hulking form into the chair beside me -- where did that come from? -- and grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
Oh, duplicate meanings, how you forever plague the ignorant minded. "Tell who what?" I ask, hoping he'll clarify. A guy can dream, right?
"You tell me."
Oh, bite me, buddy. I'm not that stupid. I don't think. "I don't even know what you're talking about," I slide him.
Evan chuckles. Asshole. "Since you didn't jump on explaining to Maxwell why you're so buddy-buddy with Andy --" Smart little fuck. "-- I'm gonna go with door number two, the one holding the pretty gold card." He grins at me. "When are you going to tell him you want his hot little ass, hm?"
All right. I wasn't expecting that. For good reason, too! I know I'm not an obvious person -- I have, in fact, been accused of being a brick wall, which I won't deny -- and I'm starting to think there might be a tag-team thing going down here. I can just smell it. I'm split between groaning and sighing. More humor will be derived from the groaning, and more sympathy from the sighing. Fuck. I sigh. "If Andy put you up to this, he was off base. I do not want to fuck my partner." And remember: Duo's the one who claims to never lie, boys and girls.
Evan rolls his eyes. "All Andy said, and said it a long time ago, was that you and he split up because you were both in love with separate people." He smirks. Damn, he reminds me of Zechs. Fuckhead. "And unless you're smitten with me, too, I'm thinkin' you're lyin'."
Damn Andy and his big mouth. "Evan --" Wait. What the fuck does Evan know? He's known me, what, off-and-on for a period that can't be construed as long-term in anyone's mind, and he thinks he understands me. Fuck him. "You don't know jack shit about me. I have a past. I have past acquaintances. Just because I've known Duo for a time before I knew either of you doesn't mean he's the one I'm in love with." I hate speeches. And, uh, speaking. In general. Fuck you, too.
Evan shrugs, damn him. "I just say it like I hear it. You never regret what you didn't say if you say everything on your mind, right?" He smacks me on the shoulder and I am once again reminded of his enormous mass -- what I wouldn't give to see his abs -- before he wanders out of the room. So much for a private room in which to think. At least the private part.
I hate thinking. I really do. Sometimes I envy the people who don't do it naturally.
We land around the scheduled time and check into our mini-base: another Motel 6. Fucking world-wide corporations and their fucking cockroaches. Fucking Duo and his fucking perceptiveness.
"Uh, what crawled up your butt?" he says to me as we deposit our things in our room.
So "deposit" might not be the right word. So what? So I threw my duffel onto the bed with a little unnecessary force. Not unusual or anything. And the fact that the zipper popped off? It was an old bag. An old bag that I can't fucking get open. Fucking zipper.
So maybe I'm a bit irritated.
"Heero, you're mutilating a perfectly good bag." Duo is looking at me as though I've grown another head. Or turned purple. Or, God forbid, jumped up and down, clapping my hands and giggling. "What the fuck'd that zipper ever do to you?"
It chipped the paneling is what it did, but there's no way I'm going to say that. "Hn," I reply aloud, finally getting my fingernail in far enough to peel the bag open. Maybe I can fix it. If I can get the zipper out of where it's embedded itself in the wall. Whoops.
Duo rolls his eyes and pulls out his laptop, booting it up to check mission details. Unless something's changed, we're hitting the base tonight with a secret sabotage. See me dance with joy. At least I don't have to wear clothing that "blends in" with any strange surroundings. Damn nightclubs.
And I have no idea why I just thought of that. Hm. Oh, right. The music. The bloody fucking music that must have an auto-start because it's playing already. How does he do that? Redirect my brain from one irritation to another in less time than it takes a sleaze to earn his or herself a cheap drink, I mean. Now it's some hip-hop, let's dance around the room sort of thing, and I'm not quite sure what the point of its lyrics are, other than to break my brain.
I'm gonna get freeRide it into the sun
I don't even pretend to understand. No way.
"No change in the mission," Duo proclaims, loud enough to be heard over his thudding bass -- again, how does he do that? "We leave at 20:00, arrive at target 20:15, and need to be out by 21:45. Plenty of time for an in and out mission."
I nod, slumping dramatically onto my bed. I hope he wasn't watching. Damn Evan. Damn his intelligence, and damn this woman's boots for walking. I know there's something he wasn't telling me -- like, how I gave myself away -- but I have no idea what it is. And I'm supposed to be the genius. Yeah. Fuck genius. I'd give it all up for an ounce of either tact or common sense.
I let my glance slip to the clock. 18:50. I suppose if I want to be ready for the mission, I should start emptying my mind sometime in the very present future.
Right. Empty mind. Empty mind. Empty, uh, canister? Why on earth is Duo taking the bullets out of my gun? "Uh?" I ask, sitting up to stare in a way I hope is not quite as dumbfounded as I actually feel.
Duo glances my way quickly, then back to the gun. He doesn't reply. For once, he doesn't fucking reply.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching him snap the empty clip back into the gun and aim the useless weapon at the wall. Fuck dumbfounded, I've reached out-and-out disoriented. Unexplained de-terrorizing and lack of verbalization from Duo can only mean one thing: I've entered the next dimension. And fuck if the next dimension isn't a Motel 6.
Instead of answering my question in words, which I would really prefer, Duo turns and points the gun at me, instead. What is this, a fucked up Western? You can't shoot me with -- Oh, right. There's a bullet knocked. But, uh, still confused.
As Duo just continues to aim the gun at me, staring in a rather unfocused way, I'm forced to rationalize. He's not going to shoot me. He's just going to break my brain. Great. Lovely. Peachy fucking keen. "You realize there's still a bullet knocked, right?" I ask. Vocalization is good, Duo. Learn from me.
Oh God, what did I just think?
"Yep," he says, finally, as he lowers the gun. He's still staring at me. "You always knock your gun when you're done shooting. I finally figured out why."
Since when has Duo spoken in riddles? Advance of the Martians: high alert! I've totally lost my marbles. "Because you never know if you'll have time to before you need to shoot," I say. That's the correct answer. It's what I was taught. It's why.
"No." Apparently not. "It's because you think you're gonna need that shell." His eyes turn up in a way I've come to learn means, you think you're so smart, but I've already got you whipped.
Right now, I think I'm probably the most idiotic person alive. I have no idea what he meant by that statement. And I feel like I should. At least an inkling, anyway. "That's the general idea?" I guess.
Duo shakes his head. "It's not. We don't kill people." He smirks at me. "Duh? The whole point of Preventer?" He tosses the gun to me. At least my reflexes aren't as slow as my brain. "You've had that bullet knocked since last month."
And I have. Huh. Well, fuck me. The clock says 19:20. That was a thirty-minute conversation we just had. Sort of. I'm rather impressed.
I think we've subconsciously admitted to being through with that train of thought, as we both start getting ready for the mission almost immediately. I slip on a pair of just-tight-enough black pants and a skin-tight black long-sleeved tee while Duo does the same. I'm a little nervous to attach my gun, but I do, anyway, and we're out the door to the lobby by ten to departure.
Evan and Andy join us in the lobby momentarily, and we're all stuck standing around, looking like idiots. Though, unless Evan and Andy discussed my momentary lapse in intelligent thinking, I'm not sure why they're as quiet as Duo and I. Unless guns and cocking are common communication pieces among more than just us former Gundam pilots.
Five minutes of silence. I think this is going to be a long night.
In-and-out never sounded so easy. We did complete the mission, but only by the skins of our tails. Une conveniently forgot to tell us that the building was half a mile underground and the only channel in -- that we knew of -- had caved in. Lovely woman. I just adore her.
Adore mentally watching her writhe in agony.
And the fucking music. Can't we have silence? Or a beat that doesn't sound like its sole purpose is to knock down the walls? Our neighbors are going to come after us with sledgehammers pretty soon, and I'll be mighty hard-pressed to give a fuck.
He's not even using the computer. He's just got it sitting there, blaring, while he stares into space. Fuck. That.
"Duo," I say, breaking the vocal silence. I think I shocked him out of his reverie, as he sits up and blinks at me in apparent confusion.
Say something, friend. "Yeah?" he asks. Good job.
"The music," I say. Might as well torture him.
"What about it?" he asks, turning it down to hear me. Just think about what you're doing, maybe?
I sigh and pull a leg up underneath myself. "Don't you have any music that isn't just one bass blast after another?"
He's scowling at me. I'm finally honest, and he scowls. The jerk-off. "I like this music. I didn't know it bugged you." He flips through something on his screen. "I've got a bunch of shit, y'know?"
"Do you have anything we both like? 'Cuz if I've gotta listen to it all the damn time, it'd be nice if it was at least bearable." So I'm being an asshole. Whoops.
And he noticed. Double whoops? "Well, come take a look then," he says shortly, putting his laptop down in front of his legs and flopping backwards.
I'm really not good at this "communication" thing. Not at all. "Fine," I say, pushing my legs off the bed so I can stand and walk over to the screen.
And he wasn't kidding. He's gotta have at least twenty gigs of music on this thing. That's ridiculous. I don't think I even own this much music. Scroll, scroll, haven't heard of any of this shit, except for a few of the artists, which I mention to him as I scroll.
"I don't know any of these artists. Except for, uh, this one. And, uh, that one. And where do you find all this shit?" Ugh. Word vomit.
And, fuck. "All over the place. Used CD shops, mostly," he says, calmly. Only his calm speak is extremely disorienting, as he's sitting up again. Behind me. Apparently I'm unnaturally skinny, or something, as he starts fiddling with something around me, all the while breathing down my neck. Asshole. "Here," he continues, and pulls all the artists I mentioned into a folder. "A playlist we both like. Satisfied, grumpy?" he asks, turning and grinning right in my face.
And, believe you me, right now, I'm anything but satisfied. "Thanks," I manage to deadpan. The music starts to play, and I don't even know who's playing, because his arm has somehow wormed its way around my waist. And he's fiddling with my shirt. Bloody bugger, and, uh, stuff. Any lower and I could get him for harassment. And not with a deadly weapon. "Can I get up now?" Again with the word vomit. All right, word hiccough, but for me? It's vomit.
And he jumps. Didn't he notice he was inches away from groping me? "Oh. Sorry, man," he says, removing his arm to less obtrusive -- and more unknown -- space. Apparently he didn't notice. Odd.
I shrug and manage to get up and sprawl across my own bed. I think too much shit has happened today. I'm dead ass tired. Perhaps I'll just fall asleep to the somewhat bizarre image of Duo staring intently at the wall to my left, as though it could tell him the secrets to the universe. How fantastic.
"Heero! Maxwell! Up!" a voice yells, and I'm pulled, rather rudely, out of an interesting dream containing both mirrors and lots of catfish. There's a pounding on the door and a sudden thud from the other side of the room. I pry my eyes open to ascertain that, yes, Andy is pounding on our door, and, yes, Duo fell out of bed.
Congratulations, brain, you've passed "spotting the obvious 1-oh-1." A glance at the clock tells me it's six thirty a.m.
And we need to be on the plane by seven. Hm.
Fuck.
"Shit!" Duo yells from across the room. Apparently he noticed, too.
I jump out of bed and grab my duffel -- luckily, I fell asleep in my clothes -- and manage to shove everything into it. Duo has a tougher time, as he's trying to get dressed and pack at the same time.
I grab the duffel from his hands and shove his clothes at him. "Here," I say, in a voice that sounds a bit like an order, "let me help," and shove him away so I can pack his things.
"Come on!" Andy yells, and the light squeaking noise tells me he's jumping up and down outside the door.
The other squad -- the one that got its ass kicked -- is on this plane, and if we don't catch it, we've gotta take the long way back. And no one wants that. Plus, a week with just Andy, Evan, and Duo? I'd go into emotional-in-depth-thought overload.
We're packed, dressed, and out the door so fast I can imagine a little old lady asking us where the fire is.
"Forget to set your alarm, or what?" Evan asks as we try frantically to hail a cab. Yes, cab. Had I mentioned yet that Preventer was a cheap organization? No? Or that our rental cars were only for one day? Yeah, sometimes life just sucks.
Duo answers, panting, "Shut the fuck up." Maybe I won't tell him his shirt's buttoned wrong.
"I guess so," I say, more calmly than my partner.
Andy laughs, finally flailing us over a cab. "Maybe we should all share one big room next time, hm? All warm and cozy," he says, piling himself into the cab.
Evan snorts. "Warm, cozy, and violated," he corrects, snide grin on face. "Now let's shuffle, people, we've got fifteen minutes to get there."
Apparently the cabbie heard him, as a nice line of Arabic curses emanates from the front seat. I guess he's assuming we can't understand Arabic. Well, I can't speak for Andy or Evan, but Duo and I got a crash course from Quatre during the war, in a moment of utter lull. Or, you know, as "utter lull" as explosions every five minutes can get.
"Mantora Airport," I tell him, "as fast as you can." I blink. "Legally, if possible."
"Yes, sir," the cabbie says, pulling away from the curb and into the partially existent flow of traffic.
We're a bit too cramped to breathe comfortably, so talk keeps itself at a minimum, and we reach the airport with two minutes to spare. For a twenty-mile drive, that's pretty good. Actually, I'm not sure how the cabbie managed that, but I'll admit to having pointedly ignored the speedometer.
"Flight?" the attendant asks us as we thunder to a stop outside customs. Why couldn't Preventer have a base here? Yick.
Andy pulls out the Preventer pass we were issued. "The Preventer ops flight back to Brussels, in the case that it hasn't left yet."
The attendant laughs. "No, sir, there was a boarding error, and the flight's been delayed an hour. You have plenty of time."
Fucking, midget-killing elephants. I'm feeling the somewhat uncharacteristic need to laugh hysterically. Ah, yes. Duo feels it, too. And he laughs for the both of us. Good chap.
We manage to laugh our way into the loading area, accumulating several strange looks and a few pairs of rolled eyes during our journey.
"So," Andy manages, laughter coming to an end, "What sort of boarding error would set back a pseudo-military plane an hour?" he asks.
Evan shrugs. "I have no idea. We could always ask." He heads in the direction of a man in the Preventer Air attire.
The man turns around, looking somewhat perturbed, when he gets tapped on the shoulder.
All right, he looks more than perturbed. He looks anxious. "What?" he asks, voice curt, if somewhat strained.
Evan gives him a carefree smile, which seems to calm him a bit. "We were just wondering what the reason for the hold up is." He laughs. "Not that we're upset -- we were running late as is."
He receives a tight-lipped smile for his efforts. What I wouldn't give to be able to calm people down like that. As is, I can send people into hyperventilation easier than talk to them. I've been told it's my posture. Right.
"An agent was caught with confidential information. Information he shouldn't have had on other agents." He grimaces. "He's being questioned by his superiors right now, but they don't seem to be getting anywhere. Last I heard, they were going to try a new tactic, then detain him until we get back to base."
Andy frowns, but Evan throws an arm around his shoulders, ceasing any vocalization he might have been meaning to do. "Information on other agents? How would he get something like that? I thought only the top ranked Fives could access agent information." He laughs. "And I've never even met one of those."
The man looks at Evan's jacket -- the 5 on the sleeve rather gives us away in Preventer company -- and his lips quirk again. "Orders from above. Those who have access aren't allowed to tell anyone they have access. But I'll give you a hint: it goes in pairs. Of the ten Level Five teams, three have unlimited access to Preventer files." He gives us an out-and-out grin.
Evan grins back. "And how would you know?" he asks playfully.
"When I'm not carting you ops agents around, I fly Lady Une's private jet." Apparently we're talking to the pilot. Good to know. Evan sure can pick 'em. "Always have. Even during the wars." He shrugs. "You learn things when you're always around the higher-ups."
I share a glance with Duo. It's a glance that means, even if you're with the higher-ups, you only know what they want you to know. And if they don't like you, you don't know squat. And while Une respects me -- we'll not say anything about my loud, disruptive partner -- she doesn't particularly like me. Most of my information comes, grudgingly, from either Wu Fei or Sally. Because they do like me. Most of the time.
"Interrogation complete," the pilot's belt proclaims -- er, walkie-talkie, since belts don't talk, "begin general boarding immediately."
The pilot proceeds to blink at his belt for a bit, then grins at us. "Well, you heard 'im. The plane'll leave in five minutes. Have a nice flight," he tells us before wandering off in the general direction of the cockpit.
"All right!" Evan proclaims, walking away with Andy in tow. "Let's get a move on!"
Duo laughs and I shrug, following after him. Apparently we aren't going to discuss our interesting hacker. I'm sure Une will tell us at HQ. She always does.
You know, when she's in one of her good moods.