Note: This is something that's kind of been living in the back of my mind for a while now. Apparently, sick-and-medicated me thought it would be the perfect time to write it out, and this is the result.
The title is taken from a quote by Erik Pevernagie:
"Let us not remain anchored in the quicksand of a waning past, and lose the war on obliviousness, but let us listen to the bracing sounds of new horizons, grasp the enchantment of the fleeting instants and seize the cleverness of the moment. (Could time be patient?)"
The Vice Foreign Minister's eighteenth birthday is a circus. Literally. Basque shakes his head as he looks at the list of orders sitting on his desk. In addition to a lengthy list of politicians, nobility, and civilians, there's also a list of performers that he has to clear. And on top of that, the girl has brought in her own personal security guard.
He'd gotten no information on the kid, except for a sparse background check and security clearance from Preventers. Seemed the kid was contracted with them and he knew from personal experience that Une kept her cards close to her chest. So the kid was cleared, and he apparently follows orders well enough, and Basque just hopes the night won't end in an international incident like the Agricultural Minister's party had six months ago when one of the guests had drank too much champagne and been found naked in the garden fountain along with the Minister's teenaged daughter.
Basque isn't as young as he used to be and he wants to make it to retirement.
The boy, Heero Yuy according to his file, though Basque doubts that is his legal name, shows up five and a half weeks before the Vice Foreign Minister's birthday. He carries a duffle bag with him and has on a beat up leather jacket that looks a size too big in the shoulders. Basque sizes the kid up as he walks up the drive, watches the way the kid's eyes dart around to all the security points they had set up.
The boy is young, about the same age as Vice Foreign Minister Darlian, he'd guess, though the report Preventers had sent hadn't specified an age. And it isn't hard to guess why she'd requested this particular boy to join her personal detail. He's better to look at than most of the older soldiers on payroll. But, the kid has a gravitas around him that speaks of some type of training. Basque wonders if he's former OZ. At any rate his face is faintly familiar, like someone he may have seen in passing.
He meets him on the steps to the Vice Foreign Minister's house, holds out a hand. "Heero Yuy?"
The boy tilts his head back, stares at him from beneath a mop of messy brown hair. "Ander Basque." He looks at the proffered hand for a moment before he reaches out and shakes it once. His grip is surprisingly strong and Basque discreetly shakes out his hand behind his back after it is released. Before he can say anything further, the door behind him opens and he hears an excited squeal.
"Heero!" Basque has enough time to step aside before the Vice Foreign Minister hurries past him and throws her arms around the kid. The kid doesn't exactly smile, but something in his face softens as he tentatively wraps an arm around the girl's waist. "I thought that was you coming up the drive, why didn't you call? Pagan could've picked you up!"
"It wasn't far." The kid steps back, lets his eyes glance over the Vice Foreign Minister. "You look tired."
"Exhausted," she agrees. "Come on, let me show you where you'll be staying." She links her arm with his, tugging him along with her and into the house.
Basque shakes his head. He can see the headlines now. Vice Foreign Minister Darlian Caught Naked in Fountain with Personal Body Guard. He has a feeling he is going to need a strong drink after all of this is over.
. . ... . .
The kid makes his way to the control room an hour later. He's lost the leather jacket and is now in just a tank top and jeans, along with a pair of unfortunately colored sneakers. Basque wonders if they've always been this particular shade of mustard yellow. The kid folds his arms over his chest and surveys the base of operations. Basque feels his palms begin to itch. It's the same reaction he would get when one of his superiors would drop in to observe him when he was a cadet.
"You former OZ?"
The kid tilts his head, studies Basque through eyes that seem much too old for his age. They remind Basque a bit of the Vice Foreign Minister's eyes, already world weary. But the boy's mouth twists into a smirk and he snorts, shakes his head.
"No," he states. He turns his attention back to the wall of security cameras and the few officers manning their stations. "Small operation."
"At the moment," Basque agrees. "Most of security is being monitored through those camera feeds there, and we have a couple of guards patrolling the grounds and stationed at the main entrance and exit points. As the party approaches we'll have more security coming in."
The kid nods. "You rely a lot on the camera feeds?"
"We rely on scheduled check-ins with the guards as well. Security feeds allow us to get a better view is all."
"And do the cameras cover the paths not taken by the guards?"
Basque frowns at him, shakes his head. "Of course. Why wouldn't we want that?" he asks. "If someone did manage to infiltrate the grounds then we would want to be notified immediately."
The kid stares at the monitors and Basque turns his attention to them as well, frown still in place. He can't get why the kid is fixated on the cameras. Would he like more guards on the ground? Of course. But what he wants and what he gets don't always align. He watches as Pierre rounds the corner near the conservatory on monitor 3. However, he never appears on monitor 4. The camera stays focused on the glass panes of the conservatory, the carefully tended flower beds alongside it.
His eyes dart back to monitor 3 when he catches movement again and he sees Pierre round the corner toward the conservatory again. "What the Hell?" He pauses, hand running through his salt and pepper hair. "A loop. Someone's put the camera feeds on fucking a loop!" he barks.
Instantly the two guards in the room jerk to attention, studying the monitors with their mouths hanging open in surprise. Basque reaches for his radio on the desk when the kid's hand shoots out, stopping him.
"You aren't under attack, I created the loop myself."
"Why would you do that?"
"Your security is weak," he states. "I wanted to see how long it would take your guards to notice the loop."
Basque doesn't want to ask. He really doesn't want to ask. "When did you create the loop?"
The kid crosses his arms again, shifts his weight slightly. "After Relena showed me to the room I'll be using."
"Fucking shit." The kid had managed to hack into their system and create a loop within an hour of being here. He is going to throttle Pavich with his computer cord. The guy had sworn up and down that the firewalls were impenetrable. He squints suspiciously at the kid. "One of Treize's Specials?"
The kid shakes his head again, this time his smirk looks more amused than knowing. "No."
. . ... . .
Basque still doesn't know what to make of the kid, two weeks after his sudden arrival. The kid is good with computers, that was immediately apparent, but he also has a good eye for perimeter weaknesses. Almost to the point of being too thorough, if Basque is honest. The kid looks at every eventuality and finds holes a mouse would be hard-pressed to fit through let alone a grown-ass assassin.
"You'd be surprised," the kid says after Basque mentions it. They are sitting outside in the garden and the kid's just pointed out the perimeter patrol issues. "And a sniper doesn't need to fit through a hole, just his bullet."
"I told the Vice Foreign Minister this was a security nightmare," Basque grumbles. He takes a long pull from his coffee thermos. "Do you know how hard it is to vet circus performers?"
The kid smirks at that. "I'll handle it."
"Oh?" Basque laugh. "Have a lot of experience vetting performers?"
The kid shrugs, rolls the water bottle he's holding back and forth in his hands. "I know a guy," is all he says. "There won't be issues from the performers."
Basque studies the kid, finally nods, satisfied. For some reason, he trusts that the kid will get the job done. "Yeah, alright. It's all yours." The kid nods, pushes up from the bench and retreats back to the house. Basque watches him go, shaking his head a little.
The other thing Basque has noticed is that the kid attracts attention. Some of the younger guards they've hired on have taken to watching and whispering about him when he passes. The kid never reacts, but Basque suspects he isn't oblivious to the attention either. Three days after the kid joins the team, Basque was making mental bets on which of his crew would be the first to try and get with him. He wishes it was a real bet, he would've won good money on it.
Kai is the first to break. Basque likes Kai, she's a war orphan and former Alliance, but she has a good head on her shoulders. Usually, anyway. He watches as she sidles up to the kid the morning of the twelfth day. The kid is filling his second or third cup of coffee in the kitchenette off the control room.
"It's Heero, right?"
The kid grunts an affirmative.
"I'm Kai. It's good to have you on board." The kid doesn't even look at her, but that doesn't stop Kai. "Some of us are going out for drinks after our shift, you should join us."
"No, thanks." The words come out gruffly, almost sounding foreign, like the kid doesn't have experience being polite. Basque feels a twinge of sympathy for Kai.
"You sure?" she tries. She tucks her dark hair behind her ear and gives him a bright smile. "It's usually pretty fun, getting away from all this posh."
The kid looks over at her. He gives her a cursory glance, but Basque has an uneasy feeling it's mostly for show, that the kid already knows Kai's file by heart. "Positive."
Kai deflates then, smile dimming slightly, and she slips away to her work station. The kid stands there a moment longer before shaking his head and grabbing his laptop. He disappears out the door, laptop tucked under one arm and thermos of coffee held tightly in his other hand.
"Well, it was worth a shot," Valle calls over to Kai. "He's a cute one. Maybe he's not a morning person?"
"Maybe," Kai sighs forlornly.
Basque rolls his eyes. "Back to work," he orders.
. . ... . .
"I know it's last minute. You're nearby though." Basque pauses, listening unabashedly to the conversation taking place on the other side of the hedge. He was on perimeter walk, making sure the cameras were all up and functioning, that the event coordinator was doing what she was supposed to do. It wasn't his intention to eavesdrop on the kid, but well, gift horses and all that metaphorical bullshit. "No, no elephants. What about acrobats?"
Basque hums slightly. The kid is conversing with whoever his performer contact is then. He peeks around the corner of the hedge row, sees the kid seated on one of the stone benches. He has the phone pressed to his ear, one arm resting on his knees and his head hanging so Basque can't make out his expression. It is, strangely, the most relaxed Basque has seen him since he's arrived.
"Yeah, alright. Send me the names. No, that's fine, whoever you think's best." The kid pauses, raises his head. Instantly, his eyes lock on Basque and his face shutters. Truth be told, Basque is impressed with how expressionless he can look. He has to be Specials or Alliance. Maybe Preventers has some type of Specials of their own. "Alright, tomorrow. Sounds good."
He ends the call and stands. His shoulders don't hunch, his gait is still the same swift, nimble stride Basque is used to, but there's something about the set of his jaw and the cast of his eyes that speaks of a predator being hunted. Basque slides his hands into his jacket pockets, shifts his stance to military rest and runs his thumb over the switchblade in his pocket. Just in case.
"Your performer contact?"
"I'll get the list of performers tomorrow," the kid states. He stops a few feet away from Basque, eyes flitting over him quickly. Basque releases his hold on the switchblade, keeps his fingers pressed to it though. "Something you needed?"
"No, just checking the grounds."
The kid tilts his head slightly. Basque isn't sure if it's to avoid a sunbeam or acknowledge his statement. The kid doesn't wait around though, just shoulders past him and disappears down one of the garden paths.
"Hell," Basque sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He is definitely getting too old for this shit.
. . ... . .
Nilsen is the next to break. Nils is another good kid. Well, decent. He has a tendency of putting his foot in his mouth, but his heart's usually in a good place. Twenty-two, former OZ, Medal of Valor for his service in the war. He came in eighth after Zechs Merquise at Lake Victoria. Not that Basque depends on academy scores. Nothing tells you about a soldier like a battlefield. But, Basque likes him.
So, when Nils gets up during dinner, chair legs scraping slightly, Basque pays attention. Nils crosses the dining room, approaching the table where Basque and the kid sit. Basque keeps his attention on his tomato soup, but he still tracks Nils as he takes the empty seat across from the kid.
It's been sixteen days since the kid showed up.
"I'm Nilsen, Nils."
The kid spares a glance at him. He raises an eyebrow.
"Just wanted you to know whose name you'd be screaming tonight." Nils offers the kid a smile, eyes flickering over him. He leans in slightly, smile turning more cocky. "I won't need a spoonful of sugar to swallow you."
Basque refrains from groaning, but he doesn't stop the eye roll. He reaches for another roll, contemplates chucking it at Nilsen's head. The kid turns away from Nils, refocusing on his laptop. He looks unimpressed and Basque tests the weight of the roll in his hand. If Nils opens his mouth again he'll throw it, he decides.
"I will give you to the count of five to get up and go back to your table."
"Hey, c'mon, I was just playing."
"Four."
"Look, man, I'm sorry if it came off…Well. If you change your mind…" He winks. "You know where to find me."
"Two."
Nils shrugs, getting to his feet. He ambles back to his table and Basque watches as the kid grabs the laptop and tray of food, disappearing out of the dining room. Basque catches Nils watching the kid's departure longingly. He sighs and shakes his head. He'll put Nilsen on night shift, get him out of the kid's hair. It's the least he can do. He doesn't want the kid reporting sexual harassment to Une. That's the last thing he needs.
He finishes eating, pushing to his feet. As he passes Nilsen on the way to the tray return he can't resist reaching out and smacking him on the back of the head. He ignores Nils's startled protests as he stalks back to the control room.
. . ... . .
The Vice Foreign Minister announces an emergency meeting with Minister Dubiel from the Trade Federation. She requests the kid as her personal security and Basque wants to say no. Wants to suggest someone else, but the kid simply nods and looks like he'd expected nothing else.
Definitely Preventers Special Forces, Basque thinks.
"It'll only be for two days," Vice Foreign Minister Darlian assures him. "We'll be back with plenty of time to prepare for the party. After all, we still have over two weeks, right?" She tilts her head, smiles charmingly at the kid. "We can discuss the party on the flight over."
The kid glances at her, shakes his head. But there's a smirk lingering in the corner of his mouth. Something fondly amused, slightly exasperated. Basque can see the future headlines and feels a migraine coming. It figures that the kid's turning down his guards if he's busy fucking the Vice Foreign Minister.
"Major Basque," Vice Foreign Minister Darlian says. She reaches out, places a hand on his arm and offers him one of those winning political smiles. There's a reason she hasn't lost an election despite being so young. "Don't worry. Heero and I are old friends, he'll take good care of me."
"Of course, Vice Foreign Minister," Basque says. He meets the kid's eyes over Vice Foreign Minister Darlian's shoulder. The kid doesn't look awkward, doesn't look ashamed or concerned. He just meets Basque's gaze evenly.
"Relena, we should be heading out within the hour if you want to make the flight."
She turns then, smiling brightly at the kid. "Of course. I'll tell Pagan to bring the car around once you've had a chance to pack."
. . ... . .
Basque is only slightly mollified that there aren't any newspaper articles detailing scandals involving the Vice Foreign Minister and her bodyguard when the pair return three days later. He's waiting in the foyer, arms crossed as they enter. The kid has his leather jacket on once again, duffle bag hitched over his shoulder. The Vice Foreign Minister shoots glares at the side of his head whenever he isn't paying attention. So, few and far between. The kid always seems to be paying attention.
"I thought you said two days," Basque states.
"Yes, well, we would have been back sooner if someone didn't make a side trip-"
The kid turns his own scowl on Vice Foreign Minister Darlian. "And who insisted on that?"
For what it's worth, the Vice Foreign Minister simply crosses her arms over her chest and stares back unimpressed. "God forbid I don't want to see you injured, Heero Yuy."
"Injured?" Basque demands, perking up. He turns his attention to the kid, but there's no obvious wound.
"The Vice Foreign Minister has a knack for making friends," the kid states. He offers a curt nod to the girl. "I'll be down in a few minutes, Basque."
Basque waits until the kid's ascended the stairs completely before turning back to the Vice Foreign Minister. She's deflated somewhat, looking tired and worried once more. Basque wonders if he should pat her shoulder. Instead he squares his shoulders and eyes her speculatively.
"What happened?"
The girl looks up at him, startled as though she'd forgotten he was there momentarily. Basque tries not to take it personally. "Oh, nothing," she laughs. "Heero's just stubborn. Everything's fine. How goes the vetting, all set for the party?"
Basque eyes her. She stares at him with wide, guileless blue eyes. It's the first time he really sees her as a politician.
"Everything's going according to plan, Vice Foreign Minister."
"Excellent!" She claps her hands together and gives him a bright smile. "Really, Major Basque, it was a very minor incident."
She excuses herself, heading upstairs, and Basque supposes he should just be grateful that whatever It was, It did not make the papers.
. . ... . .
The two other Preventers agents arrive twenty-five days after the kid did. They're an odd pair, the long-haired one is loud and friendly, the Asian one is quiet and reserved. He kind of reminds him of the kid in some respects, but more cognizant of order and discipline. For one, he doesn't immediately change up the camera feeds on arrival. Basque can appreciate that, even if the kid had had a good point.
"Heero! So this is where you disappeared off to, Buddy!" the long-haired one exclaims.
"Maxwell, will you lower your voice?" the other asks. He nods at the kid. "Yuy."
Maxwell whistles as he wanders around the foyer, idly fiddling with the antique clock on the sideboard until his partner slaps his hand away. The kid smirks, shakes his head. "Haven't killed each other yet?"
"Only because the paperwork would be a nightmare," the Asian replies. His expression gives nothing away and Basque wonders if he's serious or not.
"And you'd miss me."
"I'd survive."
"Duo, Wufei, this is Basque. Relena's head of security."
Maxwell grins, offers an enthusiastic handshake. "Glad to meet you," he replies. The strange thing is, Basque almost believes him. "Sorry you had to get stuck with this stick-in-the-mud. Believe it or not, he's gotten better. You wouldn't believe the shit I had to put up with during-"
"Duo," the kid growls. Maxwell shuts up with an easy smile and apologetic shrug. "I'll show you the control room."
"Sure, sure," Duo agrees. "Hey, is Lena around? It's been an age since-"
Their voices trail off as the kid leads them down the hall and Basque feels more out of his depth than he did previously. Idly, he wonders if he's done something to offend Une and this is her way of paying him back. Wouldn't surprise him if it was.
. . ... . .
"Maybe he's asexual?" Valle suggests. Basque glances up from where he's filling his coffee cup. Valle and Kai have their heads bent together in the corner as they add sugar and cream and other sweet things to their so-called coffees. "He turned down you and Nils, and completely ignored Jacobi this morning."
Kai sighs dramatically. "Maybe," she agrees. "The hot ones are always uninterested. It's unfair."
Basque rolls his eyes, taps his fingers as he waits for the coffee machine to finish working.
"The new Preventers are pretty cute," Valle hedges. "I heard the friendly one, Maxwell, already fell into bed with-"
Basque looks up as Valle falls suspiciously silent. The Preventer in question is leaning against the breakroom door, smirk firmly in place. He twirls the end of his ridiculous braid in one hand. "Go on, I love good gossip. Especially when it's about me."
Valle flushes the same shade of red as her hair. "It's just a rumor."
"Even better."
Valle straightens up, chin held aloft. Basque collects his coffee and watches the show. "Twila saw you heading into one of the maid's rooms on the cameras."
Maxwell's eyes positively dance. "Only one?" he questions. "You'll need to up your security."
Basque groans. He's over Preventer agents. After this party he never wants to see another one again. Kai seems to take it as encouragement though. She lifts her head and offers Maxwell a small smile.
"You know Heero Yuy?" she asks.
Maxwell glances at her and there's a shift to his expression. "Yeah," he agrees. "Known him for a while now. You aren't the first to fall for his looks, if not his winning personality." He laughs. "He's a good guy, but don't expect anything." His eyes drift over her, linger a little too long. "If you're looking for a good time though…"
"I should turn the hose on all of you and sit you in the fountain outside," Basque interrupts. "The cold'll do you all some good." He eyes them all disapprovingly. This is what happens when the competent soldiers retire. He gets stuck with the upstarts who can't control their libidos.
"Sorry, Major," Kai replies, flushing. Valle just laughs, pushing the other girl out of the break room. Basque catches the way Valle's hand trails over Maxwell's arm though, the smile she offers him as she brushes past. Basque mentally examines his duty roster. He'll have to rearrange it. Again.
. . ... . .
"Major…" Twila trails off and Basque looks up from the request form he's reading. Pavich has identified some type of new software he wants to install, something the kid's recommended, and Basque has spent the past four hours trying to decipher the techno-babble.
"What is it?"
Twila heaves a sigh, broad shoulders rising and falling. He scrubs a hand over his face. "Those agents are in the garden. They raided the wine cellar by the looks of it." Twila pauses, meets Basque's weary gaze. "The Vice Foreign Minister is with them."
Basque leans back in his chair, rubs his own hand over his face. "How bad?" he asks.
"No reporters and no nudity."
"Well, thank God for small miracles. Come on, let's see what those hooligans are up to."
Basque pushes himself to his feet and pulls his jacket on. Twila falls into step with him as they exit the house and make their way down the verandah steps before taking the lead. He holds a flashlight loosely in his hand, the moon's bright enough that they don't need it though. It doesn't take long before Basque hears the voices and laughter. Twila takes one of the side paths, leading him to a copse where the three agents and Vice Foreign Minister are sprawled on the ground.
Maxwell is half sitting, half leaning against a sapling. He takes a long pull from the open bottle of wine in his hand. The other two agents look clear eyed which Basque is grateful for. The Vice Foreign Minister's voice is too loud, her laughter comes too easy, and Basque suspects it's been her and Maxwell finishing off the three bottles of wine.
"How long before Tro and Quat come?" Maxwell asks. He lists slightly to the left, toward Wufei, and the other agent elbows him back into a sitting position. Basque isn't sure who Tro and Cat are, assumes they're more Preventers, though they weren't on the list Une sent yesterday. Maybe new additions.
"You're drunk," Wufei states.
"I'm buzzed, Lena's drunk."
"I am not!" the Vice Foreign Minister exclaims. Like Maxwell, she teeters, falls into the kid's shoulder and laughs. "Maybe a little unsteady."
"Your brother would be appalled," the kid states.
"Good he's on Mars then, hm?" she questions. She pushes herself into a sitting place, brushes her hair out of her face. "This's nice."
"Two years," Wufei comments absently.
"Hear, hear," Maxwell chirps. He raises his wine bottle and takes another swig. "We'll have to do a proper toast when everyone's here."
Basque startles as a hand clasps his shoulder. He looks over to see Twila eyeing him curiously, eyebrows furrowed as he darts his eyes toward the ragtag group a few yards away. Basque considers, watches the way the Vice Foreign Minister plucks idly at the cold grass beneath her. He shakes his head, inclines his head back toward the house.
They pick their way back down the main garden path, away from the voices and laughter. Basque wonders if he's making a mistake, if he shouldn't turn around and go back, scold them all for their behavior when they're supposed to be on duty, escort the Vice Foreign Minister back to her room.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Twila questions as they cross the lower patio toward the verandah. Basque glances at him. "Seeing her acting like a kid, laughing like that."
Basque is quiet as they ascend the steps back to the control room. "Yeah," he agrees, "it is."
. . ... . .
Surprisingly, the one the kid seems to tolerate the most from his team is Pavich. The two sit and talk computers and motherboards, security and access points. Basque doesn't follow half of it, but it's the most animated he's seen Pavich since the guy had been assigned here last year.
"Maybe he's into the nerd aesthetic?" Nils queries to no one in particular.
They're playing cards, one of the few nights Basque lets himself enjoy a nice scotch and a bit of a relax. They have just over a week left until the party and so far all the background checks have come back clear, Une claims there's no serious threats, and his guards seem to be falling into some kind of routine. It seems too good to be true, but Basque is trying to look at things more positively, more optimistically these days so he ignores his lingering doubts. It's almost peaceful – relaxing, even.
So, of course, his guards choose now to start thinking with their libidos instead of their brains.
Wufei looks up at Nils, eyebrow lifted as he taps his cards on the table. "Who, Yuy?"
"Yeah," Nils replies. "He's turned down everyone here who's asked." He glances over at where Pavich is pointing enthusiastically at one of the monitors. His Russian accent is thicker when he gets excited and Basque isn't sure how the kid understands him. "Only exception seems to be Pavich over there. But Pavich's basically an android, he wouldn't know sex if it came up and offered him a free blowjob."
Wufei's other eyebrow joins his first before he frowns at Nilsen. "And they say discipline and dedication are a dying breed."
"C'mon man, I'm just trying to get a feel for your friend over there. Or, y'know, a feel of him."
The agent shakes his head, folds his cards. "Good luck." He nods to the others at the table, exchanges an exasperated look with Basque, and then gets to his feet.
They watch as he crosses the room to where Pavich and the kid are talking. Pavich falls silent, looking confused as Wufei leans over, speaks softly in the kid's ear. Basque sees the subtle tensing of the kid's shoulders as both he and the agent glance back over at their card table. Nilsen offers a smile and a wave and Basque takes a long drink from his glass. Nils is met with twin scowls before the kid turns back to Pavich. The agent nods and disappears out the door and into the main house. Basque wonders if he can hire and train a whole new staff in the nine days before the party.
He bets he could.
. . ... . .
The performers arrive the week before the party. Basque comes outside to oversee their arrival. There's ten of them, all piled into an old convoy truck. He's got Nilsen on guard duty and he watches from the steps as Nilsen examines the canvas piled into the back of the truck. The performers are loud and boisterous, laughing as they half hang out of the truck to look at the country house. Basque is glad he took two aspirin this morning already.
Paperwork in order, Nils waves them through and Basque descends the stairs to meet them on the driveway. A boy is behind the wheel, face half-obscured by his hair. He climbs out of the truck and Basque can feel his quiet assessment from twenty paces away. Just what he needs, another ex-soldier.
"You our entertainers?"
The boy's mouth curls slightly. "We were told to come a week early for set-up." His eyes flick over the building façade behind Basque, taking in the doors and windows, no doubt checking security, before he turns to look at the grounds. "We can set the tent up over there," he nods toward a grassy area where the Vice Foreign Minister holds her tea parties. "Should be enough room."
"Yeah. I'm Basque, I oversee the security here."
The boy's eyes glance over Basque briefly. A quieter, more obvious but less intrusive assessment. "Trowa," he states. "I spoke with Heero Yuy."
"He's in a meeting with Vice Foreign Minister Darlian." Basque doesn't want to think of what their meeting could possibly entail. "I'm sure he'll check-in once he's finished."
The performer offers another faint impression of a smile. "Of course." He nods to the performers still in the truck. "We'll set up over there," he calls.
Basque steps back, watching the performers disembark, opening the back of the truck and beginning to remove materials. "I can offer some workers if you need help."
The performer's eyes flit back toward him. "We're fine."
Well, Basque thinks, that's that.
. . ... . .
It's nearing midnight when Basque notes the light coming from the tent in the garden. Twila is on guard duty, but he's at the other end of the garden, so Basque heads out to corral the performers. There's music coming from within the canvas tent and he sighs heavily, pushing the cloth covering aside to enter.
There are two large central poles holding the tent up, a wire spread between them. Basque can see one of the entertainers, Trowa, up there, wandering from one pole to the other, bouncing lightly on the taut wire as though he's testing the give. Basque wonders if he should tell him to wrap it up now or wait until he reaches the other end. There's no net and he doesn't want to accidentally kill the boy.
Ten paces from the end of the wire, the boy suddenly bends his knees, presses into the wire and then launches himself into the air. Basque watches, slack-jawed, as the entertainer twists and lands on the platform.
"Can't resist performing, huh?"
Basque looks over, only slightly surprised that the kid is here. He's leaning against the low wall separating spectators from where the performers will be, head tilted back as he watches the entertainer. Basque can't make out the expression on the entertainer's face, he's too far up.
"It's only performing if there's an audience."
Basque watches as the entertainer loops an arm around the pole. He steps off the platform, sliding effortlessly down the pole, all thirty-or-so feet of it. The kid vaults the low wall, crossing the mat-covered floor. He has his arms crossed over his chest, eyes following the entertainer's progress down the pole.
"And what am I?"
They're too far away for Basque to hear properly over the music. But, suddenly the kid's head falls back and he releases a surprised laugh. Basque hasn't seen the kid smile once in the four weeks he's been here, let alone laugh. The entertainer's hand reaches out, wraps around the kid's shoulder before slipping up to curl around his neck, and suddenly the kid's back is pressed against the pole, his hands are sliding under the entertainer's sweater, and well. Basque doesn't really need to see any more than he has.
He backs out of the canvas tent and retreats to the verandah before he radios Twila. No need for Twila to investigate, he has a feeling that performance will require a lot of…practice.
. . ... . .
The Vice Foreign Minister opens up the east wing of the country house for the performers. Even though she's allotted them five bedrooms, they take over the entire first floor of the wing. There's loud music spilling from the rooms, sparkling costumes drying in the open windows, and props littering the hallway floor. One of the maids reports a terrifying amount of knives in the second bedroom, so Basque makes his way through the chaos to investigate. He's never been happier to have a room on the second floor of the west wing, tucked away near the guard room.
Twila is already in the room, arguing with a girl with wild auburn hair and steel in her voice. She's clutching a knife in one hand and there are half a dozen others scattered on the floor. Twila shoots him a beseeching look when he arrives.
"I've got this, Twila, thank you." The guard nods before turning and exiting the room. "Now, let's just calm down here, Miss…?"
"Bloom," the girl snaps. "Catherine Bloom."
"Miss Bloom." Basque gestures for her to take a seat. The girl crosses her arms over her chest, twirls the knife between nimble fingers, and remains standing. Basque sighs. "This is an awful lot of knives."
The girl arches one perfect eyebrow. "I'm a knife thrower, Mister…?"
"Major Basque, ma'am." He eyes the thin blade of the knife. "I told the boy in charge, Barton, all weapons were to be secured."
The girl laughs. It's surprisingly musical compared to the tone of voice she'd been employing earlier. Basque blinks at her. "It must have slipped my brother's mind." She smiles at him, amused and a bit condescending for Basque's tastes. "He's been a bit preoccupied since we got here."
Basque clears his throat. "Nevertheless, weapons are forbidden inside the house proper. You'll have to keep them in your caravan."
The girl's eyes narrow. "Outside?" she questions.
"Or we'd be happy to keep them secure in the guard room, Miss Bloom," he offers.
The girl's eyes narrow further. "If you think I'm going to hand them over to former soldiers-"
"Let her keep them."
Basque notes the way the girl's shoulders slump before he turns to regard the kid. He's leaning against the open doorframe and Basque can see a handful of faces peering curiously at them. Fantastic.
"Mr. Yuy, protocol dictates-"
"She's vetted," the kid interrupts. His eyes flick over the girl. "She's deadlier in a kitchen, anyway."
The girl's face reddens and Basque jumps as the air whistles next to his head. He sees the knife embedded in the wooden doorframe an inch from the kid's head. It had happened so fast, he hadn't even registered the knife leaving the girl's hand. The kid simply smirks, reaches up and pulls the knife free.
"See?" he asks.
"I like you better when you're comatose," the girl snaps. She brushes by Basque and wraps the kid in a hug. "Hello, Heero."
"Cathy," he greets. "Trowa's looking for you."
"I'm late for practice," she agrees. She takes the knife from him before turning to gather the ones scattered around the room. She lifts her head, meets Basque's gaze steadily. "Was there anything further you needed, Major?"
"No," he replies, "have a good practice." He watches as she collects her knives and flounces out of the room. The kid is still there, watching him. "What?"
"She's young enough to be your daughter."
"I didn't-"
The kid raises an eyebrow before he turns and disappears down the hallway. Basque curses, pulling the door shut behind him. Four more days and this whole fiasco will be over.
. . ... . .
Basque wakes in the middle of the night. He's been a light sleeper for years, since before the war, back when he was still in training, so he usually wakes at least once or twice. Usually if one of the guards stumbles in drunk or there's a change of shifts that he's surprisingly not already awake for. He groans as he realizes the pounding in his ears isn't his heart after another nightmare but instead the rhythmic thumping of a bed on the other side of the wall.
The clock on the side table shines 1:27 in cheerful neon green numbers. He scrubs a hand over his face, and debates on pounding a fist against the wall. He doubts the occupants will hear it over their own noise.
Slowly he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. The noise is coming from the wall behind his headboard, where it backs up to the south-facing wall. The kid's room then. He can distinguish other sounds now as well – grunts, moans, choked off curses. Basque shudders and gets up, pulls on yesterday's trousers and a sweatshirt. He'll check in with the nightwatch, do a quick perimeter check...
Harder…fuck…
Basque pauses, glances back at the wall separating his room from the kid's. He shakes his head, pulls open his door, pats his pockets to make sure he has his keys and radio. Maybe he'll stop in the mess for a late night snack as well.
. . ... . .
"Good night?"
Basque isn't sure how Maxwell can sound so chipper this early in the morning. Maxwell leans back in his seat, sliding the newspaper in front of him away, and folding his arms behind his head. He looks a bit like the cat Basque's mother had after she'd killed one of the neighborhood pigeons. The other agent has his head ducked down, intent on his tea, but Basque would bet good money that he's amused. The other guards glance over curiously.
The kid looks, well, the same really. Basque notes the red marks on the kid's neck that his tank top doesn't cover, the oblong bruises circling his wrists like fingers, but what really stands out is the looseness to his shoulders, the slightly lighter circles ringing his eyes. He doesn't look relaxed, per se, but he looks less like he hasn't slept in a month.
The kid pulls a chair out at the table where the two Preventers are sitting. Maxwell's grin widens while Wufei wordlessly slides a plate of food across the table to the kid. Basque catches the way Nils and Kai watch the kid, Valle's amused smile as she sips her coffee. Twila glances at him with an eye-roll and Basque shakes his head.
"Barton joining us?"
"Early practice."
"Didn't get enough practice last night?" Maxwell snickers. He yelps as one of the boys kicks him, Basque doesn't catch which.
. . ... . .
Valle falls into the empty seat next to him during lunch. She has an extra-large coffee in her hand which is…excessive. Even for her. Basque glances at it pointedly and Valle sighs dramatically. "I'm exhausted!" she announces. "Seems I was right that Yuy would've been a good lay," she sighs.
Basque grunts and focuses on his stew.
"Well, judging by the sounds from his room last night at least," she reasons. She waves suddenly and he looks up to see Kai, Nilsen, and Pavich joining them. Basque sighs heavily and stabs a piece of lamb with his spoon. "And judging by the marks on him."
"Who, Yuy?" Nils questions.
"Marks?" Pavich asks.
Kai sighs, chin resting on her hand. "I tried checking the security footage but nothing showed up to say who was with him." Her eyes slide over to Nils. "Wasn't you, was it?"
Nils shakes his head. "I wish. Damn, and I was beginning to think the bastard was an android like Pavich here."
"Hey!" Pavich protests.
Basque clears his throat, frowning at all four of them. He does allow his scowl to lessen when he turns it on Pavich. The guy's too oblivious to really be frustrated with. "Hopefully this will put an end to all your foolishness this past month," he states. "Yuy's here on for a job that ends in three days."
Kai lifts her head, eyes wide. "Think he was with the Vice Foreign Minister?" she asks.
"Sure," Nils scoffs. "She look strong enough to leave the bruises on his wrists like that?"
Valle shrugs. "Bet I could."
"Yes, but you aren't the Vice Foreign Minister."
Basque decides against finishing his lunch. He gets up from the table, leaving them to their theorizing, and goes in search of intelligent company. Hell, he'd even take the Preventers at this point.
. . ... . .
Basque doesn't trust the cameras, so he assigns himself to grounds duty that night. And if it offers him the benefit of not being around to hear the kid's extracurricular activities? Even better. He's leaning on the verandah railing, inhaling the sweet-bitter taste of nicotine, when the kid appears like a ghost at his side. Basque chokes on the smoke from his cigarette.
"The cameras are functioning," the kid states.
Basque glances at him, notes the amused glint to the kid's eyes. He rolls his own eyes and takes a deep inhale. "Good," he replies. "Would hate for an intruder to wander in because you're using government resources to cover," he pauses, waves a hand, "whatever it is you're doing."
The kid tilts his head, assesses him silently. "An intruder wouldn't make it past the fence."
Basque doesn't have to look at him to believe him. There's something about the kid, about the two Preventers agents and even the damn entertainer that makes him believe what he says. He's not sure what they've done, where Une has dug these four up from, but he finds that he doesn't really want to know either. He knows, deep in his gut, that finding out wouldn't do anyone any favors, least of all him.
"My team think you're fucking the Vice Foreign Minister."
"You did too." The kid rests his arms on the rail and stares out into the shadowy garden. The tent looms over the whole thing, casting long shadows and obscuring sightlines.
Basque takes a long drag on his cigarette. "As long as everything goes according to plan in," he checks his watch, "two days then I really don't care what you do."
The kid stands, rolls his shoulders. He's wearing the leather jacket again, Basque notes. He wonders if it's hiding new bruises. "The worst Relena has to worry about is Minister Dubiel getting into the champagne and getting too handsy. We have everything else handled."
Basque watches as the kid disappears back into the house. He waits some more, finishing his cigarette slowly, before stubbing it out and going to check the cameras for himself. It's not that he doesn't trust the kid, just that he wants to be thorough.
. . ... . .
The night of the party goes off surprisingly well, all things considered. Basque's team are all orderly and presentable. They know their patrols and they know the timeline for the night. Basque isn't worried about them. Not really. The visiting Preventers are dressed in simple suits instead of the guard uniforms, and Basque has to do a double take when he notices them.
Maxwell looks right at home wining and dining the upper echelons of society, laughing brightly at something a young debutante says. His hair is neatly braided and his smile disarming. If Basque hadn't known he was an agent, he might have let his gaze pass over him easily. The other one, Wufei, looks serious and scholarly in a dark suit. He stays to the sidelines, sips tea from fine china, and when Basque passes on one of his rounds hears him debating the colonial education system with Minister Perri.
The kid is the surprise. While Maxwell looks like the typical self-assured, slightly disreputable, son of the upper classes and Wufei has the gravitas of a disapproving professor, the kid carries himself as if he grew up wearing three-piece suits. He stays along the perimeter of the party, eyes lingering on Vice Foreign Minister Darlian as she circulates between her guests. He nods politely at passing guests and Basque catches him chatting with the head of the Winner family at one time. He can't imagine what the two have to discuss, but as he watches he sees the Winner kid duck his head and laugh.
Basque is on his third round when he notices the Catalonia girl standing next to the kid. She has her arm looped through his and the two are standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Their heads are bowed slightly together, gazes trained on Vice Foreign Minister Darlian as she speaks with the Winner boy. Basque pauses, watching them. He glances over at the Vice Foreign Minister to see if she's noticed, but she's oblivious. The Winner boy isn't though. He sees the way the boy watches the pair, guides the Vice Foreign Minister towards the tent in the garden. When he glances back to the kid and the Catalonia girl, the girl has moved on to the next group and the kid has disappeared into the shadows again.
Basque follows the crowd to the tent, but doesn't go in. Instead, he takes up his position at one of the entrances, listens to the oohs and aahs that come from inside. He glances in, once, to see the knife thrower standing center-ring. There's a target set up and Basque recognizes the fall of hair over the entertainer's face. Trowa, he remembers. He doesn't intend to watch for long, but just like the audience his attention is captured by the way the girl takes aim, the loud thwack as each knife embeds in the wood, centimeters from the boy's body.
"Crazy," he mutters to himself. You wouldn't be able to pay him enough to have someone throw knives at him. He'd gotten his fill of projectiles in the war. He turns away, eyes scanning the garden for any straggling guests, any suspicious activity.
. . ... . .
The Vice Foreign Minister doesn't end up naked in a fountain with (or without) her bodyguard, but Minister Dubiel from the Trade Federation does drink too much champagne and ends up pawing at the wrong girl as predicted. Basque spends the rest of the night coordinating between the local constabulary, Preventers, Dubiel's own security, and Dubiel's rather insistent aide – a young man named Yergin who Basque would very much like to strap to the knife-thrower's target board and let her go to town.
In addition to that, Lord and Lady Janssen are caught propositioning one of the acrobats for a private showing; the Civil Engineering Union get drunk on the champagne and have to be escorted out by Twila once they decide to take a go at the trapeze; Lady Jana Popov loses a diamond necklace worth at least a year of Basque's pay; there's an incident where the reporter from The Universe loses their camera in the garden fountain; and the Vice Foreign Minister disappears for thirty minutes after the performance act, during which the Winner heir and the three Preventers agents also are apparently missing.
Basque lets his eyes skim his team's reports while he eats a buttered croissant and drinks black coffee. He feels exhausted and cranky, but overall grateful. He has three newspapers spread before him – The Newport News, The Universe, and The Sentinel – and so far none of them have hinted at any type of scandal. He's sure the rag papers will, they always do, but as long as the respectable ones portray the Vice Foreign Minister's birthday as a responsible and enjoyable experience then he's content.
. . ... . .
The performers disassemble their tent and contraptions fairly quickly. By midmorning everything is packed and stowed in their truck. Basque wanders over to the group, nods to a few of the performers he's seen around, and notices the three agents speaking with the tightrope walker. He approaches slowly, observing them while they're preoccupied.
Maxwell says something, pulls the entertainer into a hug. Basque can't say he's surprised when the entertainer steps back, grips Maxwell's upper arm instead. The other agent, Wufei, speaks quietly and the entertainer nods a few times, shakes his head at other points. Wufei shakes his own head, holds a hand out and shakes the entertainer's, but there's a warmth to his expression that surprises Basque.
The two agents turn aside, chatting while the kid and entertainer stand facing each other. Basque watches as the entertainer tilts his head. He can't see his expression from here, but he does see the kid's smirk. The kid leans back on his heels, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The morning chill hasn't burned off yet and the kid's wearing the leather jacket once more.
"Will you two hurry up?" a voice calls. Basque half-turns, notices the knife-thrower glaring up at the pair standing on the stairs. He looks back at the pair, curious to their reactions. "Just kiss each other goodbye so we can get a move on!"
Maxwell lets out a startled laugh and even Wufei looks amused. The entertainer is shaking his head and the kid just reaches up, hand firm on the back of the boy's neck, and pulls him down for a kiss. It isn't a polite kiss. Basque glances away once hands begin to roam, chuckles quietly to himself when he hears Maxwell and the knife-thrower whistle. It doesn't take long for a few of the other performers to join in the whistling and cat-calling. He notices his own team watching the proceedings, jaws slack and eyes wide with surprise.
The knife-thrower storms past him after a minute and he lets his gaze follow her. She grabs the tightrope walker's arm, pulling him forcibly back from the kid. "Right, I thought we agreed no more indecent exposure?" she demands, voice loud and carrying in the empty garden. The pair simply shrug and the tightrope walker reaches out to smooth the jacket collar down on the kid fingers lingering a second longer than they should. "You'll be reunited in a week, it's not like you're going off to war."
She drags the other entertainer down the verandah steps, ignoring Maxwell's snickering. The boy offers him a nod before the girl leads him over to the van. She none-to-gently shoves the taller performer into the cab of the truck, but Basque catches the smile on her face before she climbs in after him.
"Well, at least Mr. Meditation here can stop complaining about no sleep," Maxwell comments. There's a scuffle on the steps that Basque decides not to turn around to witness.
. . ... . .
The Vice Foreign Minister is in the foyer when the three agents are ready to leave. She offers each of them a smile, though it lingers the most on the kid. She doesn't hug Wufei, but they exchange pleasantries and he doesn't scowl when she leans in to kiss each of his cheeks. Basque watches, semi-amused and semi-exasperated as Maxwell wraps the Vice Foreign Minister in a hug, swinging her around until she's laughing and Wufei smacks him in the head, orders him to put her down. Basque is glad the reporters have already vacated the premises.
"Thanks for letting us crash here, Lena. It was good to get away."
"It was good to see you again," the Vice Foreign Minister replies. She tugs on his braid and then smooths the wrinkles in her blouse. She doesn't suppress her smile though. "Take care of him, yeah?" she asks, tilting her chin in the kid's direction.
"Hey, y'know I've tried and tried. That one's a stubborn one. Almost as bad as Wuffers over here."
"Maxwell."
"Duo."
Maxwell just shrugs and the Vice Foreign Minister turns her attention to the kid. She pulls him into a hug, stands on her tiptoes to murmur into his ear. Basque can't hear what's said, he doubts the other two agents can over their bickering, but he watches the way the kid nods, the way he offers her a small hug in return before stepping back. He looks the consummate soldier, waiting for orders. Basque pauses as a thought flits its way across his mind. It's too outlandish to consider though and he dismisses it fairly quickly.
"Heero."
"I'll see you for the Trade Meeting," the kid states.
"Good," the Vice Foreign Minister replies. "Stay out of hospitals in the meantime."
"I keep telling you, staying out isn't the issue. It's getting him into one that's the sticking point," Maxwell interjects. He dances out of reach of the kid's punch. "Come on, let's jet. I can't wait to get home."
The agents grab their bags, wander over to where Basque is waiting by the door. "Gentlemen," he states. He ignores Maxwell's wide grin at the term. "Thank you for your assistance."
"Ah, no, thank you," Maxwell says. "This was basically a vacation for us, right guys?" He glances at the other two agents and then hitches his bag over his shoulder. "Looking forward to next time, Major."
Basque blinks as Maxwell salutes him. Wufei offers him a serious nod and an outstretched hand. Basque takes it, shakes it, then looks at the kid. "Well, at least my team will get back to normal now," he states. The kid's mouth twitches and Basque knew he hadn't been oblivious to the attention he'd drawn. "It was good working with you."
The kid nods, eyes still appraising him even after a month. "You don't run a half-bad team," he states. "Better than most of the other former OZ commands I've come across."
Basque feels strangely pleased with his words, as well as rightfully annoyed. "Helps when you have a good team." He shakes the kid's hand, remembers the iron-tight grip a moment too late and keeps the grimace off his face.
He watches the three descend the steps to where the Vice Foreign Minister's chauffeur, Pagan, is waiting with the car. He expects some type of arguing or scuffling as they get in the car, but they simply get into the car with the only exception being Wufei shoving Maxwell into the backseat. Basque waits while Pagan turns the car around toward the gate. He waits and watches and wonders.
In the end, he doesn't care, he decides. He's too close to retirement to stick his nose somewhere that's above his paygrade.