"God, I'm exhausted!" Hilde said as she flopped down on the tiny berth in the tiny cabin aboard the fishing trawler Dirty Tom. The boat was a far cry from the luxury cruiser Duo had originally had in mind, but he had warmed up to it considerably when he had seen the information she had dug up on sport fishing.
Marlin and tuna, easily ten times the mass of a man, locked in a life-or-death struggle against the strength and determination of their human antagonist. Fighting against the elements, knowing that disaster could strike at any moment and turn the tides. The wind in one's hair, the burning sun on one's skin, the spray of the ocean, and death, one way or another, just a monofilament away. Blood, guts, raw courage, and, in the end, glory. Like Howard would have said: Whoa, dude.
It was kind of a bummer that Hilde had caught the marlin rather than himself.
"D'you need some more of that smelly muscle-relaxing rub?" he asked, trying very hard not to sound petulant.
"No, babe, that full-body massage you gave me this morning was very relaxing," she said rolling to her side and giving him that special grin that indicated she had been completely and thoroughly satisfied in every possible way and could they do it again, please. It made Duo feel a tiny bit better.
"It's the magic fingers," he said, holding up his sunburned and callused hands.
"Among other things," she said, and did the grin again, only wider.
Duo cracked his knuckles. "Y'know, I'm not nearly tired yet. I could give you another massage..."
Hilde shook her head. "Sorry to be a buzzkill, babe, but today's Friday."
"So?"
"So, it's the end of the week. If Heero doesn't get his 'we're okay' e-mail by midnight, he'll assume we're in some kind of trouble, the tracking thingie he put the laptop will start broadcasting our position, and in about twelve hours we have one very pissed off and heavily armed nutjob and his friends swooping in on us."
"Shit, Yuy!" Duo said, banging fist against his forehead. It was true. After the trial was over and the proverbial smoke had cleared, Heero had gathered all the parties involved, and in the interest of security (against what, Duo wondered, since Blue's scrawny butt was getting pounded to the wall in a maximum security cell and would be for a twenty-to-life term), had outfitted each of their personal computers with a microwave transmitter and a nasty little piece of software that would send him a distress signal if the parties didn't check in with him on a regular basis.
Heero's fits of paranoia usually lasted around six months. It had only been five since the trial had ended. Duo didn't know whose sense of timing was worse.
Normally it was Hilde, bless her chatty little heart, who sent out an e-mail every week informing Heero (and the rest of their friends) that they were alive and well, but since she seemed more inclined to nap rather than gossip at the moment, Duo felt it was his duty. "All right, babe. Just this once, and just for you." He kissed the corner of her smile and sat down to type.
Hey, guys!
Halfway through the Hemingway trip & all is well! Pamplona was awesome, but due to some candy-ass safety regulations, they're not doing encierro with real bulls anymore. Nowadays they just run tourists down with guys on scooters dressed up as bulls, or possibly dairy cows, it's hard to tell. See photos for scooter-bulls.
We did manage to get chased by some swans when we were visiting a vineyard, though. Safety tip: Geese get mighty uptight if you happen to accidentally wander into their nesting area when they've got gooselets. Or geeselings. Whatever baby geese are called. Territorial just doesn't cover it, man, and I got the biggest bruise on my...well, never mind. See photos for possessed birds.
Paris was fucking gorgeous. We stayed over Bastille Day and had a riot. Just about started one, too. I tried to help the pyrotechnic with the fireworks displays--just to give it a little more lymphoma, you understand--and the local constabulary kind of took it the wrong way. The less said about that the better, I think. Hilde said it was a great show anyway. See photos for amateur explosions. Oh, and my mug shot. I think it came out well, considering.
We got to the Keys about a week ago & we've been out on this fishing boat for the last three days. See photos for sunburns. It's really beautiful out here, nice and sunny and not too hot out on the water. The captain and crew have been awesome to us, the food is first-rate & the rum is even better. See photos for development of gut.
I've been doing lots of snorkeling and skin-diving, which is really amazing. There are about a gazillion species of fish and other weird critters around here. Spent waaaaay too much money on an underwater camera, but what the hell. See photos for cool fish.
Hilde caught a three m. marlin & is being disgusting. See photo for gloating.
Will be back in a week or so bearing presents & tall tales for all. Hope everyone's well & unincarcerated. This means you, Heero!
Love & stuff,
Duo
"I think I resent that," Heero said, scrolling past the photos Duo had attached at the end of his message.
"Well, he does have a point," Relena said, playing with a pair of spiderbots. Once she had gotten over her deep-seated loathing of things with too many legs, she had discovered that she was actually fond of the tiny robots. They were...cute.
"You've made pets out of them. What are you going to do, turn me in?"
"Of course not. I took a vow, if you remember: To love and to cherish, to aid and abet, by hook or by crook..."
Heero slid an arm around her waist and squeezed. "I knew there was a reason why I married a lawyer."
"And I knew there was a reason why I married a mad scientist." Relena set the spiderbots aside gently and opened up her briefcase.
Heero stared blankly at the sheaf of papers she offered. "What's this?"
"A patent application."
"For?"
"Not these, of course, since they are completely illegal," Relena said, letting one of the spiderbots crawl back into her palm. "As a whole, that is."
"You mean I should dismantle them?"
"Not all of them. Some of them should be kept intact for research purposes."
"The ones you've made your pets, you mean," Heero said, watching closely as she set one of the spiderbots on her coat button while she picked up another.
"And why shouldn't they be pets? If they were larger, of course, and maybe cuddlier. Although they're fine as they are," she hastened to reassure him, "I'm sure there could be a market for such things on colonies where domesticated pets are forbidden."
"Not many pets are forbidden these days on the colonies. In fact, there's been a bid on several colonies for equestrians. Mounted police can be much more efficient in the types of snatch-and-grab crimes committed on colonies than electric cars or beat cops."
Relena let a spiderbot crawl onto her nail. When it reached the edge of the polished surface, it went still and she put it back on her sweater. "Yes, which was why I just sent off a letter of recommendation from myself and my supervisor for Trowa to intern at the experimental stables being set up on L41X95."
Heero stared at his conniving, devious, and completely Byzantine mate with admiration bordering on awe. "You're determined to make us all go straight, aren't you?"
She looked up from tickling the spiderbot and grinned. "Not exactly straight, Heero, just lawful. Hm, I wonder if Hilde has anything new to share..."
It was growing dark when Trowa let himself into his studio apartment, but he didn't bother turning on the lights. The place was so small and underfurnished that he was in little danger of tripping over something, and besides, he needed the darkness in order to wind down a little. It had been a very trying day.
The first thing he did was go to the closet-sized kitchenette and pour himself a glass of milk. He hadn't had a chance to eat all day, which was just as well since he hadn't had much of an appetite. Four hours of oral examinations had seen to that. It was what he had been simultaneously striving for and dreading ever since coming back to the university, and though it wasn't as bad as it might have been, he still felt jittery and tense.
Suddenly ravenous, Trowa opened a tin of sardines and grabbed a bagel, applied one to the other, and began to wolf it down in huge, greasy bites. His mood rose along with his blood sugar, and he allowed himself to think the exam had been a little better than not-bad. It might, upon reflection, have gone rather well.
Still chewing, he left the tiny kitchen and settled himself down in one of the two chairs he possessed, which was one more than he really needed. He never brought anyone over. Even if he had had the time and energy for an active social life, he didn't have the inclination. This postcard-sized room, with its rickety workdesk, narrow bed, and dollhouse-sized kitchen had been his private place for the last five months, and he hadn't felt like sharing it with anyone.
Except now, maybe with someone.
He leaned back to close the blinds, then pulled his chair closer to the workdesk. His laptop, by far the newest and most high-tech thing in the entire apartment, came awake as he typed in his password and opened up his videocam. The number he wanted was already pre-programmed.
The connection was made and the sound came on before the video did. "This had better be Barton," said a disgruntled voice. The image on the video showed mostly vague shades of white, gold, and dull green while it connected, but Trowa recognized it all the same.
"That would be Doctor Barton to you," he replied, stressing the title.
There was a pause while the pixellated image on the screen refined and configured itself into a set of surprised, familiar features. Quatre blinked at him in delighted amazement and said, "Are you serious?"
"It's not official yet, but I have a very good feeling about it," Trowa said, letting a smile take over.
"Holy...wow! I mean...when did this happen?" Quatre said excitedly.
"Just this afternoon. I finished my final oral exam about half an hour ago."
Quatre's had apparently just gotten in from work. His hair was grimy and matted from the hard hat and there was an oily smudge on his chin, but the look of sheer joy on his face made him look radiant. "Trowa, that's wonderful! When do you find out for sure?"
"Not till late September. I have six weeks to relax and get over the horror and trauma."
"It couldn't have been that bad," Quatre scoffed.
"One of the examiners had a horrible facial tic, another one had a stutter, and the third one was half deaf and kept asking me to shout a little louder. You try to stay composed and professional under those conditions."
"Poor Trowa," Quatre said, laughing.
"Only my natural poise and charm saw me through the ordeal," Trowa said, milking it a little. It felt good to see Quatre laughing again. "And you? How are things at your end?"
"Fine. Wufei's been helping out on weekends and he seems to be enjoying himself, given that we have to practically pry him out of the exomech at the end of the day. Auda's been dethroned as the company darts champion, but I'll suppose he'll get over it. Everyone seems to get along with him, actually, and it's been nice to finally get back to work, but..." Quatre ran a hand through his sweaty hair, an exasperated gesture. "It would be nice if Rashid didn't keep giving me that look."
"What look?"
"This look," Quatre said, and pressed his lips together, lowered his brows, and tried to make his large blue eyes go dark and beady. It might have looked intimidating on Rashid, but on Quatre, the effect was laughable.
"Are you sure he's not just constipated?"
"Trowa, I'm serious! He keeps hovering. He's always checking on me, going through my toolbox, upbraiding me for the tiniest safety violations--I think he's even been going through my mail. I know he's just being protective, but I wish he'd just relax and let it go. I hate being treated like an incompetent child who can't take look out for himself."
Trowa's mood fell flat in an instant. It was a startling change, like being suddenly plunged into dark water after having been in the sunshine. He thought he should say something, or at least try to hold his smile, but at the moment all he could think of was the nasty, vindictive way he had argued with Quatre in the hospital room, when he had been unhinged with fear and bone-deep dread.
"Trowa?" Quatre's voice was a low murmur, barely able to compete against the sound of Trowa's own heartbeat. "I'm sorry. I thought we'd moved past that."
"I've been thinking," Trowa said, and then paused, wondering what had made him say that. Of course he had been thinking, but he suspected that what he had to say didn't have anything to do with the rigors of academia or of his professional future. It was something more immediate and yet more lasting, and he had been processing it for quite a long time...just not consciously. He waited, knowing that the words would come in their own time. After several minutes, during which Quatre was quiet, they did. "About you and me. Especially about me."
Quatre said nothing, merely nodded.
Trowa found he desperately, urgently needed Quatre to understand him, more than he had ever needed anyone to understand him before. He picked his words carefully, slowly. "I suppose I'm a bit of a loner by nature. I'm very careful about who I let get close to me, because when you let someone get close--close as you and I have become-- everything the other person feels or experiences becomes part of my feelings and experiences. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, I think so." But he didn't, not quite. Trowa could tell.
"It's a frightening thing, and a powerful thing, which is why I tend to keep my emotional distance. But I let you in because it felt good, and right, and perfectly natural," Trowa said, and he thought he saw Quatre start to smile, but he didn't want that right now, "But it's also not safe. When you're that close to someone and they are hurting, then you hurt too. Sometimes it hurts so badly that you want to give up caring just to make the pain go away."
There was no trace of a smile on Quatre's face now. "I understand. That's what happened to you last winter, isn't it? That's why you ran away."
"Yeah," Trowa said. "That's what happened."
Trowa couldn't look at Quatre's face. But he could look at his hands. They were grimy around the knuckles from work, one folded on top of the other. They had always looked a little too big for the rest of him, Quatre's hands, but they were as clever and nimble as anything once they were on his tools, or his piano keyboard, or on Trowa's own body...
No, that was an inappropriate thought. He shoved it away.
"I'm sorry I can't be safe for you, Trowa," Quatre said, and every molecule of oxygen in Trowa's tiny apartment seemed to vanish at that simple sentence. He tried to draw a breath and couldn't. There was nothing to breathe. He bowed his head as if inviting an axe to fall on his neck, but all Quatre said was, "That's love." Then he heard a sigh coming from the computer speakers as if Quatre was breathing for him, and some light and color began to creep back into the world. "Trowa, please don't beat yourself up over this."
"I don't see why I shouldn't," Trowa said. "You didn't mean to hurt me, I know that, but when you needed me most, I turned around and deliberately hurt you. What kind of monster does that?"
"A human one," said Quatre, simply.
Trowa lifted his head. Not enough to look Quatre in the eye, but enough to show he was listening.
"I've had people who loved me around me my entire life," Quatre said, "and I've done things...things I'm really not proud of. I've fought with my sisters, stolen from them, used emotional blackmail, turned them against each other to get my own way. I've lied to Rashid, I've defied him, challenged him, been disrespectful to him. My father..." Quatre trailed off and was silent for a moment before resuming his train of thought. "I've mistreated the ones I love sometimes. Sometimes they've mistreated me."
"Why?" Trowa asked.
There was another pause, this one so long that Trowa had to wonder if the connection had frozen. But then he saw Quatre's hands relax from their tight grip on one another, the fingers spread open, palms flashing before folding closed again. "Why? I could probably give you a thousand different answers to that. When I built Wing, for example, why didn't I kill you or Heero when I clearly had the advantage? Why didn't either of you try to kill me afterward, when I was vulnerable?"
Trowa couldn't answer that. It was either glaringly obvious or the reasoning was so labyrinthine that it would take days to explain; either way, he didn't feel up to vocalizing it. He simply nodded, hoping that Quatre understood. And hoping that he himself understood.
"Yeah, it doesn't make a lot of sense," Quatre said after a while."It's so much easier to forgive the ones you love than it is to forgive yourself. But you know what? It doesn't go on hurting forever. Little by little, day by day, you'll start to let it go, and eventually you'll come to terms with yourself. Believe me, it'll happen."
"I suppose you're speaking from experience," he said, raising his gaze just enough to address Quatre's fingernails. "I just can't see why you'd want to put up with what an insecure, moody bastard I can be."
"I've been a neurotic and impulsive bastard often enough. Seems to me we've reached some kind of karmic balance."
Quatre's tone was light, but the words weren't. He didn't say things like that without believing them. "You think we're okay together, then?"
"I'd've used a stronger word than 'okay', but yes. I think we're okay together."
Trowa's eyes followed Quatre's hand as it reached up to push a sweaty lock of hair away, and he found he could look Quatre in the eyes after all. He let them become mirrors, and what he saw in their reflection was a person who was absolved. Accepted. Loved.
He reached up and touched the screen, putting his fingers against the image of Quatre's. The cool polymer felt warm and yielding under his touch. Almost like the real thing. "I'd like to come home," he said.
Quatre pressed his own fingertips against his own screen, a gesture that was lost due to the camera angle but which Trowa swore he could feel caressing his skin anyway. "You never really left."
Wufei had never entered Preventers Headquarters out of uniform before. He had wondered if any of his colleagues would think he looked strange, but as he made his way through the maze of corridors and cubicles to Director Une's office, he felt that they were the strange ones, not him. Of course he recognized the faces and could put names to most of them, but they seemed distant and insignificant now. There was a sort of clean-cut, bureaucratic sameness to them, worker bees in a giant, fluorescent-lit hive. He was suddenly very glad he had chosen to wear his street clothes rather than a suit to this interview.
The few that did acknowledge him only did so minimally with a nod or a quick wave of the hand. Even Une's secretary said nothing more than, "You're expected," before going back to his monitor. Wufei was already a nonentity, as far as they were concerned.
"Come in," the director said after his knock on the inner office door.
Wufei let himself in and closed the door behind him, making sure it latched firmly on the indifferent secretary.
Une stood with her back to him, gazing out the window at the rainy city. He could see his letter in her hand. "I received your resignation," she said, turning to face him. He noticed she was wearing her reading glasses.
Wufei tried to relax. He was quite used to butting heads with the Director, after all, and as long as he kept his cool he usually got his way. Or at least he got her to see his point, which was usually the same thing. She wasn't unreasonable, just...eccentric.
"I accept it."
The wind was abruptly knocked out of Wufei's mental sails. He realized he had been bracing himself for a fight, and this calm acknowledgment was disappointing. He didn't know what to say.
"I've seen it coming for a long time," she said, moving to her desk and taking her seat. "Maybe even longer than you have. In fact, I'm surprised you've held out this long."
Wufei pulled up a chair, unasked. This was interesting information. "I hope my performance hasn't been unsatisfactory," he said.
"Of course it hasn't. I've expected only the highest from you, and that's what I've consistently received. I've always been very proud of you, Wufei."
It was the first time she had used his given name in a professional setting. He supposed it was a way of letting him know that he was no longer one of them, no longer a Preventer. The thought failed to provoke any negative emotions. "Thank you, Lady."
The use of her former name didn't seem to faze her at all. She merely gave him a serene smile and said, "I'll be sad to see you go, but I could hardly expect you to keep up your level of dedication forever. It's better now to let you leave now of your own accord than to stay on and become a burnt-out drone who is hardly fit for routine surveillance missions."
And that, in a single sentence, was why Wufei had handed in his resignation."I'm glad you understand."
From a large leather courier bag that she carried instead of a briefcase, she produced a thick padded envelope filled with what looked to be a short novels' worth of documents. "This is your severance package, with information on retirement benefits, health insurance, copies of your commendations, and several letters of reference." Her smile grew fractionally wider. "Though I don't suppose you will need most of that since you seemed to have secured other employment already."
"Yes, I have," Wufei said, trying no to sound too surprised. Inside, though, he was wondering how the hell she had found out and was making an appointment with Heero to sweep his apartment and his belongings for bugs.
She stood up and strolled casually to the window again, apparently enjoying the gloomy view. "I appreciate that you offered to stay on until your current investigations are over, but you may leave now without any penalty if you wish. I've waived your six-week exit period."
Once he walked out that door he would be walking back into the civilian world, and in spite of the way that appealed to him, something kept him in his seat. Silence spun out as he tried to phrase the question that had been nagging him ever since Morrison had phoned him the night before...
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
Well, he might as well just say it. The worst she could do was to tell him to mind his own business. "The Yates investigation. I heard that you took Morrison off the case, but as far as I know, that was never resolved. Did you find the shooter?"
"No, we didn't. In fact, I think we're going to drop that particular investigation." She took a pink plastic compact from her suit pocket, the kind of thing that usually held miniature mirrors and compressed powder and tiny makeup applicators, and she held it in her palm as if she was contemplating taking the shine off her nose as she spoke. She regarded it thoughtfully, then opened it.
"But it was a multi-jurisdictional murder, wasn't it? Normally it wouldn't have been deadfiled for a year, and it's only been five months. Why are you cutting the investigation short?" Wufei asked.
She merely gazed at her compact, then Wufei did too. From where he sat, he had a fairly good view of it and couldn't help but notice that where the mirror should have been, there was instead a tiny videoscreen, and by leaning forward a little and straining his eyes, he could just make out what was on it. It seemed to be a floor-eye view of a flag...no, not just a flag, he saw as the view panned down, but a room. A very big room. Stone-flagged floors, wooden benches in rows, speakers in the ceiling...
Director Une closed the compact and flicked a bit of dust off of one of the framed citations on the wall. It was for superior marksmanship, Wufei noticed.
He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but an errant beam of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the clouds and opaqued the lenses of her glasses. "Because the world doesn't need to know." She settled the compact back into her pocket and turned away from him. "Goodbye, Wufei, and good luck."
Then it all clicked. The Administration Center. Une's protracted leave of absence. The sudden dropping of the case. Wufei smiled, stood up, and left the room without another word.
Even without him, the future was in good hands.
The shadows grow long.
The sunlight fades; silence falls.
And the moon rises.