Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, general angst, possible OOCness (ages since I've written fanfiction so may be a little bit rusty) m/m sexual relations – limey/lemony, slight sap, Duo abuse

Pairings: 1x2 , 3x4, 5+2

A/N: This chapter is a day late of my usual updates due to RL but here it is! Chapter still inspired by Coheed and Cambria's Deranged. Warning for bad/criminal behaviour from Heero/ Duo and violence

Chapter Eighteen

We're One and the Same

There's a certain drama to an act of violence. They call it the aesthetics of violence. There's a certain weird beauty to violence sometimes – I'd seen it up close, so many explosions that do look spectacular because you can disengage from the moment – it's like fireworks. Stars. Brightness and light. This kind of violence is not pretty and it ain't nice but there is a show to it. It's like a drama – an act.

The shotgun is a totally impractical weapon. The weapon doesn't take enough rounds for it to be effective in an all-out fire fight. It needs to be reloaded too frequently and also it's a pretty messy and grim way of wounding someone. It's for show. I know a lot about the show when it comes to fighting. Deathscythe was all about show – come on, why the hell make a Gundam that looks like the Grim Reaper without it being a little about drama? Piloting Deathscythe was all about the big reveal – use the Hyperjammers and then, boom, appear and make everyone who sees it meet their maker. This is my show though Heero knows something about making violence dramatic but he follows my lead.

The first few rounds of bullets go into the ceiling and the chaos begins. I'm going with this, this plan, and I'm kinda using the word loosely, as the worst and probably stupidest thing I've ever done. And I've dragged Heero into it willingly. Damn. But we don't have time and we're rogue so we might as well do something that's not entirely kosher – regulations, protocol and the whole goddamn rule books gone so we'll go on instincts.

There's screams. I expected it. You don't go walking into a strip club in the middle of the day even in the District on L2 and start firing and not get some reactions. We don't want the girls – hell we don't want the slimy customers so I try to say this in a way that could be considered reassuring as Heero fires a few staccato rounds into the ceiling for dramatic emphasis. The music has gone off so least I don't have to tear out my throat shouting too loud – it's still all too raw.

"We don't wanna hurt any of you. We just want Antoine."

The clients don't need telling twice. I guess they don't want to be seen with their pants down, so to speak, in this situation and plus, their entertainment are doing what sensible girls on L2 do. Run. They don't bother about how little their wearing – after all, this is the District and the days when they weather cycle gets cranked up to something summer like, the girls wear next to nothing anyway. Nobodies gonna blink. We let them pass – the guy who must be generously called a DJ takes a second to decide if he wants to leave or stand up to us. I raise the gun to a few inches above his head and fire. He don't need any more of warning shot – the commotions lasted all of a minute and that's what it takes for the door of the office to open.

The only other person left in the bar and club area is Niko and she tries to decide whether to make a run for the door but we planned on leverage – we planned on having someone to use against Antoine as he could potentially use us against the other so when she made a run for it I grabbed her.

"Hold on, sweetheart, not you."

She resisted for a second but I've dropped the shotgun and instead had a knife at her throat – I may have lost the last blade to Dallas and his crew but I'd got something to replace it – knives were easy to come by in the District and we'd lost the rest of our cash in a convenience store that sold blades and small explosives behind the counter. This is probably the nastiest, scummiest thing I've ever done as she's freaking terrified and I really have become the bad guy. Low of lows. I'm now attacking chicks for kicks or something.

Antoine's got Gus but I have Heero. The fancy piece that we saw on our first meeting is pointed at my head and Gus' weapon is at Heero's head. Gus doesn't seem as confident with a weapon as he would be with fists but we're now at the stalemate situation, I guess. Technically, we're outgunned because I've got Niko and I've dropped the spent shotgun but we're not evenly matched. Two pissed off ex-Gundam pilots? I think we can take out Antoine and Gus but that ain't the point.

"We wanna talk, Antoine."

"You wanna talk and you come in here like this?"

"Yeah, guessed we ain't gonna get the welcome mat and all."

"No, you ain't."

"Maybe we make this more civilised."

"Think you gonna get bourbon and cookies after coming into my place like this?"

"Naw, but tell us you wouldn't blow our brains out if we didn't come in like this?"

Antoine laughed and Niko tried to move in my arms. All she'll achieve is cutting herself – I've got the blade tight to her throat, my arm around her exposed stomach and she needs to just calm the fuck down. I have no intention of getting her blood on my hands. She can't help who she works for. It's a job.

"Darling, stop wriggling if you wanna live," I said, low.

"Fuck you."

She spits. She does what I do when I'm restrained – must be something about being raised on this godforsaken colony. We all want to put up the front and be the badass. Always want to be smart and all about the street smarts – not they'd ever really done me much good – just opened me up to a world of hurt. I'd never become an undercover operative in the Preventers if I'd not come from the streets and I wouldn't be like I was now. Desperate.

"We want intel on Dallas."

"And you think I have it?" Antoine said, all cold eyes.

"I know you do."

"Dallas thought he'd killed you."

"Yeah, well, no one can kill death, you know."

"Yeah, we heard. Gundam pilot 02. Kinda pulled a number on us all for a while."

"Part of my charm."

I get another laugh – least my sarcasm and comedy styling's seem to work with the criminal element. I know he's mocking me, thinks we're not going to act and this is all bravado and show. Thinks we're too much the good guys to do anything.

"Yeah, we ain't got time for pigs and you can't do anything to me to get me to talk. You got rules," he said, mocking me, mocking both of us.

Pigs. I'd expected the insult but I can only smirk. Heero hasn't moved, his gun is still perfectly aimed and his back straight, perfect stance and all.

"We got kicked outta the Preventers – no rules, no protocols."

That at least shocks Antoine. He'll think it's bullshit. I would in his situation. Technically, I suppose we are still Preventers, just dirty ones right now but I'm not gonna share.

"Still don't think you got it in you, hero and all."

"I never really was the hero."

Never really felt heroic, always felt like I was just doing my thing outta of some kind of duty and revenge towards the dead. I felt a duty towards the colonies but didn't really feel heroic. Felt more like the bit player – Heero was all self-sacrificing and heroic, not me. Probably why I could do this. Probably why I've been able to spend all these years with criminals and feel like maybe this was actually was where I belonged. Dallas made me think I did – too similar to me, too alike. Sure was a depressing thought.

Antoine made this small gesture that formed some kinda signal to Gus and that's all it needs for this situation to go from talking to chaos. Gus makes a move that suggests he's about to fire and that's all that's needed from Heero. He doesn't use the OZ rifle, that was for the drama but instead, he uses the standard issue Preventer Colt and shoots quickly at the kneecaps. I'm thinking one thing – ouch. Gus' huge body crumples to the floor and he's making a moaning sound. Heero reacts and kicks away the weapon so far that it becomes impossible to reach and then points the weapon squarely at Antoine.

"Talk," Heero said.

"You two ain't gonna get me to say shit about Dallas."

Gus is moaning on the floor – yeah, it's painful, but damn he's a big dude. Surely he can take it.

"Really? I think we can be persuasive."

"Kill Niko, kill Gus, don't give a shit."

Niko starts crying and I look straight into Antoine's face and know she isn't working for leverage. He's that cold. I push her away from me and she falls to her knees, crawling away with a little nick in her neck – a small trail of blood flowing. It ain't bad. And I'm sure we've done less damage than a gang would do but I'm not entirely comfortable as I grab my own handgun to face Antoine.

"What about your own neck?"

"You ain't gonna shoot me."

I fire. It's a shot to wound not a shot to kill – I go for his right shoulder and the gun drops to the floor as he slumps to his knees holding onto the wound out of instinct. Shot wounds hurt. Hell, I know that and Heero knows that but Antoine probably does too. You don't become an arms dealer on L2 and live a life free of injury. He reached out for his own gun but my foot is there before he can reach out and I crush his hand under my boot. Not too hard but hard enough for him to yelp a little in pain. It makes me worry about his pain thresholds.

I gestured towards Heero. The room is now us on our feet, Gus rolling around melodramatically, Antoine on his knees and Niko leaned against the bar, huddled, holding her knees close to her chest as she seemed to be shivering and I guessed it wasn't about the lack of clothing. The shiny Preventer issue cuffs caught my eye and our eyes meet long enough to establish where we're gonna put Antoine. It's probably an irony thing – or maybe not irony, guess I don't understand what true irony is anyway, when the strip club owner ends up cuffed to a pole. Black Velvet might be a nice place to work. The girls might be treated in the nicest possible way and all but I doubt it. I'm cynical at heart. Think I always will be.

We both get blood on us moving him and restraining him but there's two of us and one of him. We win.

"I kinda worried you had kinky plans for the cuffs, 'Ro."

I get grunt for my attempt at humour as he checks the cuffs are secure. Antoine is on his knees, slumped forward, the bloods running freely from his shoulder and he'll probably go into shock from the blood loss.

I kneel down to be at his level and Heero stands behind him, a gun still firmly pointed at his head.

"Tell me where Dallas went."

I get spat at. Again. For fucks sake. Its bloody this time and I wipe it off my face with all the contempt he deserves.

"You tell us and we call you emergency medical attention."

He's breathing heavily and each word is hard for him. "I won't give you shit."

"Heero, fingers."

I didn't have a conversation with him regarding what torture techniques he'd been taught or what torture techniques he'd endured. I knew that he'd been taught how to withstand revealing information and to ignore the pain from torture but doling it out? Not so sure. His training and the whole twisted experimentation thing was not something I knew enough about and though it was probably something we'd have a heart to heart about in another life time, I just guessed he'd know how to bend back someone's fingers and break them.

He goes for the hand I've already crushed a little, kneeling behind him where the hands are secured in the cuffs. Antoine screams. Actually screams and I suddenly feel really bad about what we're doing. I'd been tortured. And it is not something I like to think about. Barge still haunted my nightmares and the particularly sadistic soldiers seemed to take a starring role. There's another snapping sound and I shake my head and meet blue eyes. He rises back to his feet and points the gun back at Antoine's head. Least we seem to have some control which is less than the OZ soldiers had.

"Let me repeat. Where is Dallas?"

This time his breathing is more laboured. "… warehouse…"

"A warehouse. Where is warehouse?"

I grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at me. He doesn't want to look at me and I can tell that he's starting to lose consciousness. I expect some more spitting as I'm kinda getting used to it but he just laughs me.

"Heard a rumour. Warehouse in the old shipping quarter… old Alliance one… got new security cameras… reckon it's where they'd hole up."

"That's all you've got. Thought you were shit hot, Antoine."

He coughed and seemed to be starting to shiver. Shock. Guess it'll have to do as we're getting nothing else outta the dude. He's done.

"Let's get outta here."

"Yeah."

We're both conscious that someone could've reported us – hell, even in the District our behaviour is pretty bad. We'd acted totally like criminals. I have blood on the hoodie the Preventers have given me and feel like I need to cleanse myself or something. I don't feel good.

We take the back exit through the office and I look back at Niko who's still looking terrified.

"Honey, call for an ambulance, your boss needs it."

We're outside and it feels like we've in Black Velvet for hours though it's been like twenty minutes. I don't expect it to be still midday. The day cycle's still in full swing. Seems out of step with what we've just done. Dark criminal shit needs to be done at night, the old cliché.

"Do you trust him?" Heero asked.

"No, but it's all we've got."

There's no argument there. We go to the silver run down vehicle that could be generously called a car – it's more rust than car. We'd jacked it and stored our bags and ammo prior to the run on Black Velvet but we weren't gonna use it. The shipping quarter was near enough to the District to be walkable plus I thought a vehicle made us more obvious than on foot.

The shipping quarter had been the main employer in this area when L2 was at least a semi-successful colony. When I was a kid, the Alliance had taken over the shipping quarter to store weapons – probably pieces of mobile suits and guns. Now I guessed it wasn't used at all. It didn't look in good shape when we arrived. The warehouses all looked abandoned, graffiti and broken windows and all. There's only one that does stand out a little.

It is as scummy as expected among a bunch of scummy warehouses. The only sign of it being used is the fact that the fence is repaired, the chains weak points have been rewired with care and there are no visible holes from where we're stood. We take to observing behind a burnt out wreck of a car and take turns looking closely to figure out the range of the cameras.

The cameras are not too expensive – not too obvious. If it was the top of the range security system then it would only encourage the criminal element in the District. It worked like a red rag to a bull rather than a deterrent. Gotta love this place. So this was just good enough to show some cash had been flashed but without too much value being placed on the interior. Just the right amount of protection.

It meant that the cameras were stationery. Which was easier.

"We can't use the jammer," Heero said.

"No, it might attract attention if someone's viewing the live feeds but the cameras are locked so we just need to figure out a route to the building. Then we stick close to it and we avoid detection."

"No guards."

Yeah, there were no guards. Made me feel a little weird. The whole time I'd spent at the hospital, there had been a clear schedule and the kids went with it. There was always the sniper – now no sniper and no one just sat out with a gun. It looked too easy. It looked like a trap. Fuck it. His voice broke into my thoughts.

"Could be a trap."

I looked up at Heero who was pretty expressionless. Yeah, he was thinking the same things as me. If it was a trap, it would be stupid for us to get caught in one again. Also the way Antoine had given up the information so easily. Just seemed too convenient. I didn't like it.

"We bail if it is." My eyes try to take in as much as I can and work out the route where the cameras sight don't pick up. "Could be as Roth's involved now. You know, wants the kids outta sight. Something like that."

Heero grunted and reaches for the hand gun, checking the clip as though he expects trouble. My own idea sounds unconvincing in my own head. We don't have time. Might as well do some recon at the very least and then bail.

"We get out at the first sign of trouble. Rendezvous at Duke's," I said.

"Yeah."

"How do you wanna approach?"

"Your mission, your plan."

"I think you're putting way too much faith in my plans, babe."

I get that slight smile thing. "We're not dead or arrested yet."

"Yeah, always the bright side."

I looked more closely at the camera system. There were a couple of routes and it would be better we split to be less obvious. I drop the bag off my shoulder and check my own weapon supply. I check my own handgun as I have the feeling I might be using it before too long. It gets secured down the back of the waistband of my jeans and I sling the bag over my shoulder.

"You take the north side and approach from the cameras blind spot. Try and get into the building from one of the lower windows. I'll come from this side. Meet inside."

I've already got my route in my head and the area of the fence I'll climb. My skin still prickles as I feel like this is a trap and this is a bad idea. We revert to not saying anything as he ducks slightly figuring out his own approach and leaves me behind the wreck of a car. No kiss. No words. Probably for the best, you know.

The approach I take means I climb up and over the fence with an agility I'd forgotten I had. Kinda makes me miss the old days of scrambling across roofs and rubble and wreckage. Nostalgia for my hell of childhood is brief as I land on the other side and see the fence wobbles a little with the force that my body put on it. I look over to the warehouse. There is no sign of life inside. The windows are all in tact though which seems like a miracle in itself. Maybe they've been repaired? I look up at the camera and make my run for it. This would probably make more sense at night but hell, no time and if I get caught, if we get caught then it might as well happen now.

The run only takes thirty seconds but my heart is hammering and my breathing is shallow. Partly because I'm a feeling like I'm gonna get bullets raining down on me from above but also the remains of the fucking virus. I take deep breaths and then creep around the building slowly and think about how easy Heero will be finding this. He'll be in the building already. Super soldier and all.

There's a window that's low enough that I can see through and it seems to be an office. It'll work. I remove my hoodie, the grey material has already got some of Antoine's blood on it so it's not really wearable anyway so I use it to save my hand as I smash out the glass with my fist. This time it's less difficult and the materials thicker so that, hey, no wounds! I push the glass in and wait for a second before pulling my weight up and through. I'll get a few nicks from the glass but after everything my bodies been through, I think a few scratches will make no difference.

There's no one here and I wonder where Heero's got in. I listen and hear no signs of gunfire or violence so I guess that he's probably fine.

The room is a small square with one door with a glass panel in it. It says Manager's Office. Seems like it's a part of a long forgotten version of L2 where the shipping quarter was the main employers and places like this had managers. Seemed kinda quaint.

I would've just moved along had it not been for the computer system on the wall opposite the door. The computer system is new, multiple screens and state of the art. And expensive. There are surveillance feeds on screens showing the grounds but nothing in the building. Even if we'd been picked up on the feeds there was no one sat watching which seemed kinda odd. Maybe they were stretched thin. Maybe they weren't here.

I leaned over the keyboard and the main screen came to life. The system was locked and password protected, I typed some code to establish what kinda of security system was being used. Heero is so not the only one who can hack – granted, I'm nowhere near as good but he admits I'm better at undercover work so we'll go for a tie. My fingers fly over the keyboard until a familiar logo appeared. This wasn't a warehouse belonging to Roth or Dallas… it was…

"Raise your hands slowly and turn around."

I wanted to laugh – not a humorous thing but that kinda dark chuckle thing I did. Life was full of major irony and coincidences – hell, not coincidences but always the worst possible scenario for yours truly always seems to happen. This was one of them. He knew it was me. There are so not that many nineteen year old men who work the braid look even if it is shorter than its war time length. And I look every inch the criminal I'm pretending to be – all tatted up and armed to the teeth. Plus out of all of us, we didn't know each other well – had spent two wars barely meeting and after that, I'd been blatantly mean to him the last time we'd spoke. Oh yeah, I was also the reason his sweetie was in trouble and was a general dick to him. So yeah, if I could play who I wouldn't want to see me looking suspicious and criminal – I'd pick him. No question.

"What about the bag, buddy?"

"Lower the bag to the ground carefully."

I decided to follow the order. The bag slides off my shoulder and goes to the ground. I raise my hands in surrender and turn to look straight into green eyes. He looks older. All dressed up in a well- fitting suit – totally designer or something. Suits him and all. Always worked the suit look – Quatre probably drilled it into him but he does look good in it. The gun is pointed straight at me and my response is to smirk and go for the smart-ass approach.

"Hey, Trowa. Long time no see."