Security Measures
The Weaver Atropos
And I was Looking at You and Seeing Someone Else
"Where did you say he was?"
"Right there," Duo raised a pale finger and pointed it in the direction of Gate 56B, where, days ago, the young officer had been paroling around. He looked anxiously about himself, half-expecting the man to materialize before him and take him to some sort of detention hall in cuffs and chains.
"He's not here."
Insightful observation, Trowa. Duo held back the urge to offer a biting reply, knowing his friend was there largely of his own will, giving up precious hours of sleep to help him pick up his stuff. Which he had stupidly left behind. And been too frightened to pick up on his own.
God, but was he stupid.
"I'm sorry, Trowa," Duo fussed with his bangs and offered an apologetic smile, "I really thought…"
"Don't worry about it," the taller man let his hand fall lightly on his friend's chestnut hair, tousling it as best he could, "let's go check the lost and found."
It had always been like this; Trowa had always—from as far back as he could remember—been like a brother to him. He'd always been there to guide him, bail him from trouble, teach him how to fend for himself…comfort him. His eyes stung as the memory of that little blonde once more, and he found himself faltering in his steps, falling a bit behind the brunette as they approached general security.
"Excuse me," Trowa offered the redhead at the counter a genial smile, "a friend of mine left his passport, luggage, and other such identifications here a few days ago."
The woman cast a Duo a lingering glance, "This your friend?"
Trowa nodded. "Name?"
"Duo Maxwell," his voice quivered as he said it.
The woman gave another sharp nod, her full bangs bobbing up and down and she typed into a computer terminal. She pursed her lips in thought before giving him another lasting look. "No records, I'm afraid."
Duo sputtered, "What! But—I was here—at Gate 56B…flight to Berlin…"
"Day?"
"Uh…day…Saturday 31st. This past weekend."
"Cause for cancellation of flight?"
"I didn't cancel…it…persay—"
Dark brown eyes sized him up mercilesslesly, "You walked off?"
"No. One of the officers—delayed me."
"Name of the officer?"
Amethyst eyes looked toward Trowa pleadingly. Wasn't there any other way?
"Name of officer?" Those same brown eyes were on him again, their expression stern and suspicious.
"I don't…" Duo paused…trying to remember, but a name simply didn't crop on in his head, "He was asian…brown hair—these…really—blue eyes? I mean, it's an inexplicable kind of shade…and he didn't talk much—kinda stern…I…I don't—"
But his rant had seemed to trigger a certain recognition in the woman. "I'll check the database to see who was on shift that day."
Duo nodded and gave his thanks, then turned away and shrugged at Trowa…but the brunette merely eyed him strangely. "That's an odd description, Duo. I'm surprised it rung a bell."
The young man flushed, "Yeah well. His eyes are…really out there." He tapped his finger incessantly on the counter until the woman turned back to him.
"Confirmed. Heero Yuy," she paused for a minute and spun the monitor to face him, "This your guy?"
Duo stared at the irritated face glaring at him from the screen, and spied those deep, irresistible prussian eyes one more. "Yeah," his voice was hoarse, "that's him."
" 100 Newport Drive," Heero stared at the piece of paper in his hands, wondering if Wufei had gotten the information right, and scanned his surroundings. He was currently at 5 Newport Drive, and the direction of rising numbers was farther and farther from civilized society, and closer to the heart of the city's slums. He frowned a little. He really hadn't pegged the bubbly young man from a week ago to be living in that type of area. "Wufei did say he lived in sub-sufficient housing…"
The young man walked regardless, never once having been the type to be intimidated by looks or threatening advances, and glared at whoever dared stand in his way. Finally, he came to the building—apartment housing—and found the front entrance. "Excuse me?"
His call received no answer, and a cautious check of the knob revealed the door was open. He peeked slowly inside, taking in the sight of the plush—albeit tattered sofa—and the grease stains splattered throughout the maroon carpet. "Excuse me?"
At his second call a balding man appeared, he was short, and round around the middle, and sported a sweaty gray tee and long, cargo shorts. "Ya here for the room?"
"Room? No sir, I'm looking for a Duo Maxwell," he paused and flashed his badge, "private matter."
"That kid? He's been gone for about a week. Going to earth, he said."
Brown brows drew together, "Do you have any idea where he is now? We have evidence that suggests he hasn't left the colonies."
"Probably at that bar. Spends all his time there. That boy…not on a good path—following bad footsteps."
The man paused in his rant to stare at Heero, "He's not in too bad a trouble, now, is he?"
"No, sir, not at all. We've got some things that need to be returned to him, is all."
"Right, then."
Duo shifted nervously from foot to foot. The lady at the spaceport had transferred them to this address—a Preventer's Headquarters, and Duo had a feeling he had stepped smack dab in the place he most wanted to avoid. Professor G's voice rung in his head like a mantra, reminding him constantly of the many type of situations to avoid—of which stepping into any type of police headquarters was atop the list. "Maybe we should go?" he cast Trowa a hopeful expression, but the man simply shrugged.
"If they have your information, it's only a matter of time before they find you. Better to go looking and appear innocent—than be chased and seem guilty."
The braided youth kicked at a pebble and waited. They'd rung the bell a few seconds ago and were making time as they wondered whether they were expected to go in, or if someone was going to escort them inside. When he finally got up the nerve to try the knob, he discovered it had opened at the moment he'd pressed the bell.
"Hello," Duo flashed his trademark toothy grin at the receptionist sitting at a wide, maple desk to the far right. The floor was marbled, and his heels clicked as he walked towards her. "I was told to come here to find a Heero Yuy?"
The receptionist—who was young and raven-tressed—smiled back sweetly at Duo, a stark contrast to the redhead back at the spacesport. "Name please?"
"Uh, Duo Maxwell," he glanced back to find Trowa had found a chair to the far left of the waiting area, and was leafing lazily through an old computer magazine.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Well," Duo stared her full in the face, cocking his head slightly and turning on the charm, "I was referred here by the Spaceport. My belongings were taken without my permission…" his smile turned slightly dangerous.
"Were they?" the girl's demeanor changed entirely, "without permission you say?"
"They weren't dropped off at the lost and found where they should've been. And I've come to reclaim them."
She nodded, "All right then. Would you like to wait in Mr. Yuy's office?"
"If it wouldn't be much of a problem."
"None at all, sir." She paused and smiled boyishly at him once more. "By the way, my name is Hilde—Hilde Schebeiker."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Schebeiker."
It was a dead end if he'd ever seen one. All that work, for nothing. He wagered Wufei would have a fit if he found out he'd been slaving over documents bearing the nom "Maxwell" for nothing. He had gleaned some sort of information, though—for starters, that—for all Wufei had thought up in the man's defense, his landlord seemed to think he was in bad company…which could mean a whole lot of things—but he was primarily concerned with what the man had said about his habits.
"He disappears for days at a time…and comes back exhausted—looking sick, sometimes his friend even brings him to his room. He's always got some sort of injury…spent a month in bed for something or other. Said it was at his job—he's a mechanic—mobile suits, though, not cars…but there was something off about his injuries. They didn't seem the type of thing you'd get from that line of work."
It had left him thinking…about what Wufei had said regarding his connections to G. He knew he should be handing the case over to his department—there wasn't even a 'real' case to define, actually…and, by all the rules and regulations of the PP unit, he was supposed to submit any trace of a doubt regarding an individual to the agency…and then they would filter the information appropriately. But he couldn't help the nagging sentiment that they wouldn't pay him much mind if he did write up a formal report to Headquarters. He had a feeling they'd brush it off indefinitely—if not certainly.
A glance at his watch told him he had better get to work. Today was the first in a week when he'd be able to return to the offices. Thank God for that. He figured he'd recede into apoplectic fits if he had to stand another day of field work. He'd be glad to be back in the lab—computer lab, that is—surrounded by his decoding equipment, and ever-suggestive partner.
"Heero!"
Heero turned at the call of his name, not particularly used to being referred to as anything but Yuy by anyone at Headquarters. There were a lovely two exceptions—one being the new receptionist, who was just shy of twenty and had blatantly refused to refer to a man who was a mere two years older as a 'sir'—and Milliardo's sister, in this case the Vice-Foreign-Minister, who had rather taken a liking to his person, and referred to him much as one would an old friend. "Yes?"
"You've got a visitor," her blue eyes twinkled mischievously as she spoke, "he's an intriguing guy."
"Who is it?"
"I'll let you find out. I think if I describe him, I just might give it away."
The young man quirked an unimpressed eyebrow, "You're professionalism is striking."
"I try, I try."
Trowa glanced up from his magazine upon hearing the bubbly call out to a young man who had recently entered. He was slim, had a brown mess of hair, and—from what he could discern—seemed of a rather serious fibre. A pale brown brow rose curiously. Was this the guy Duo had been so distressed about? He looked stern, granted, and infinitely intimidating…but he didn't look so bad that his friend had to request he come along…'just in case.' In fact, there was something about him that was innately likeable—almost as though, in his act of intimidation, it made him all the more agreeable. At least, Duo would think so.
The tall brunette smiled to himself as he relaxed on the couch.
Heero walked towards his office, mild curiosity nipping at him, and hesitated a bit before entering. Somehow, Hilde had found his guest 'intriguing', whatever that definition entailed—and Hilde knew him sufficiently enough to be accurate in her predictions.
He turned the knob to his door with practiced ease, and walked into the room…and right into a pair of amethyst eyes.
"You!"
Duo shifted nervously as he rose from the chair he'd been lounging on, extending his hand as he resisted the urge to frown, "Duo Maxwell." His voice was soft…barely recognizable. The moss-haired youth realized it too, and his eyes narrowed at the discrepancy of this Duo, and the one he'd met at the Spaceport. Reluctantly, but never wavering, he extended his own hand.
No one ever said he had to be rude. "Heero Yuy."
"Yeah…your secretary told me."
"She's not my secretary."
Brazen. Succint. Straight to the point. "Why are you here?"
The braided youth hesitated momentarily, "My stuff—it's not at the spaceport."
He'd been hoping he wouldn't ask about that. He had to find out certain things before they got that far; he didn't want his target being free to go without having garnered some sort of information from him. "What makes you think I have it?"
"I…you would have turned it in…"
Heero frowned a little against his better judgment, "I don't have it at this very moment."
Duo gave a slow nod. That would imply another meeting. He blinked up tentatively, not particularly eager to lock gazes with the man's eyes—however beautiful they might be—and swallowed. "When would I be able to get them? I need…them for a flight. I need to get to Earth."
Need to get to Earth?
"How do you know Professor G?"
The American man was startled, "What? Professor G?"
"How do you know him?"
Duo thought he might have answered—out of sheer surprise—if it hadn't been for the man's insistence. There was something odd about the question—about the way those Prussian depths were focusing on him…about the way he was so tense.
Instinct. Always trust instinct.
"He's a man I help out occasionally," he studied Heero's expression carefully as he spoke, "he's old…so sometimes I run errands for him, get his groceries—that type of thing."
"What about the communications device that was stolen from the Vice-Foreign-Minister?"
"What?" Duo seemed truly confused by the question; as though he weren't sure exactly what it was Heero asked. "I don't…the Vice-Foreign-Minister? I've never seen him."
"Her."
"Her?"
Heero gave a sharp nod, "It's a woman."
"Oh," A bit of a blush kissed at his cheeks. "I've never seen her. Listen, when can I get my stuff?"
The officer made a frustrated noise, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. "Tonight, if you want. Which is easier for you—the Spaceport or here?"
"Well…actually—they're both far from where I'm staying."
Silence.
"I was thinking…maybe nearer to the Newport Center?"
It was a mall in the middle of the colony—large, and the biggest location for shopping of all kinds—clothes, machinery, gardening, everything. It was an even sort of exchange…even the mall had to be closer to the officer than either Headquarters or the Spaceport.
"All right. At seven sharp. A minute later and I'm gone."
Duo nodded. "All right. Seven. At the entrance."
Somehow, Duo knew that when he said seven, he'd end up—because of whatever ill fate possessed him—a good half hour late. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but given the circumstances…shit.
He sped his pace further, cursing the fact that Trowa had taken the car to visit his sister that particular night, even after he'd told him he'd need it, and hadn't bothered to warn him about the fact. "Damn bastard." He might have even been able to catch the bus, had he known.
Another glance at his watch told him it was five minutes to seven-thirty, and he pondered turning back. The man had said he wouldn't stay at the Center a minute after seven. And a terribly naïve part inside him believed the fact.
By the time he was at the entrance it was seven-thirty, and a quick glance around him told him it'd be hell trying to find the officer if he was still there. Crowds of people were gathered in clusters, talking, flirting—finding friends. He almost felt melancholic. High School, looking back on it, had been the best time of his life…there had been very little responsibilities for him—even if he had gone through the entire experience alone—and the constant stream of friendships had been a unvarying lightening to his mood. He missed his friends; they'd always made him feel at ease. Without him…without the gang—without Solo…it was so easy to fall back on old habits…to be paranoid, to always want to please even if the person he was trying to please didn't deserve it. And he missed him most of all.
"God, let's not go through that again."
He frowned at the train of thought he was beginning to follow and rubbed at his eyes. He didn't have time for his own histrionics, given the occasion.
"It was about time."
Recognizing the voice, though it still wasn't familiar to him, Duo spun, amethyst locking on prussian, and felt his throat drop to his stomach. "I—I'm sorry."
He tried his best grin then, nervousness triggering the more instinctive side of him, and stretched, "How long did I have you waiting, exactly?"
"About an hour."
"But I thought we said seven?"
"I'm always punctual."
The unstated was obvious. And you aren't.
"I'll make it up to you—you haven eaten yet, have you?"
Somehow…despite the sheer impulsiveness of the question, Heero rather felt like agreeing. The taller man was glancing at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and Heero nodded despite himself, "Where to?"
"Uh…I know just the place," he winked, "we might even get a discount."
He hadn't been kidding about the discount. Heero took a bite out of his burger and sighed. Two dollars for a hamburger—with all the embellishments one could possible desire—was near theft. And the food itself didn't taste as though it had only cost a measly two Washingtons.
"So, how long ya been a cop?"
Small talk. Not something he could say he excelled at. "I'm not a cop, persay."
"Oh?" the other sounded interested, those bright violet eyes were staring into his own, near unblinking. The young man proceeded to take a rather sloppy bite from his chicken sandwich and grin at him, "What are you then?"
"Cryptographer. That's what I studied for."
"Ah. I didn't study. Didn't go to college, I mean."
For a moment, a shadow crossed Duo's face, "I mean…I did…I just—didn't finish." He looked up and smiled at him, "But that's old news."
"How'd you get that scar?" He wasn't normally so interested, but the scar's shape was awkward—unlike anything he'd ever really seen…and he worked for the police, for Christ's sakes.
"Hmm?" Duo looked curiously toward himself, following the other's gaze instinctively, and frowned a little at the heart-shaped scar that ran from the crook of his neck near his right shoulder, down to his left collarbone. He should have zipped up his shirt. "I had an accident helping the old man. Me and a friend of mine—" a melancholy smile crossed his face, "he came out a lot worse than I did, though."
"What happened to him?"
"He died."
The tremor in his voice was unmistakable. Heero regarded him strangely. "Oh, hey—you done already?"
Changing the topic. Another excellent attribute in someone used to persuading others.
Heero shrugged, "I guess I was hungry."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
A weary smile fell upon Duo's face, "My treat today. Next time don't wear your uniform."
Sexy Trowa likes them, too...
