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, illicit substances

Pairings: 1x2 , 3x4, 5+2

Beta: ellewrites (thanks so much!)

A/N: Song for this chapter is Underdog by You me At Six - apologies for delays on this chapter...

Chapter Twenty

Revenge Loves Company, Three Makes it a Crowd

"You know I still don't like the plan."

Heero rolled his eyes and ignored me for what must've been the fifteenth time in the span of forty-five minutes. He figured that once Quatre conceded the plan would work – master technician and all – I'd fall in line since he'd got Trowa to agree in some amazing stroke of bribery or pain of death. Figured that I'd agree but plans… so not my style. Instincts, flying by the seat of my pants, loose cannon or a freaking opportunist – that was me. Not the whole thorough and thoughtful thing – not the blueprints and whiteboards and coloured marker pens. Wufei knew that when he sent me on undercover ops – the reason I ended up in criminal gangs rather than in military cells and resistance factions. I like chaos – I damn near attract chaos. So plans? They don't suit me.

I'd said I didn't like it back at the bunker, said it wouldn't work, that it put Cutie-Q in unnecessary danger and well, was too obviously trap-like and that I thought Dallas wouldn't go for it. I'll correct myself – Dallas may go for it but I figure Roth ain't that stupid.

Call a press conference, alert the media and draw them out. Sounded simple, safe and logical in a room without windows in a bunker with titanium casing but not so good in the cold light of a colony day, you know. Plus I was kinda grumpy from being forced into the trunk of a town car with Heero. Not too spacious for one and plus, the oxygen level and sweatiness of the general atmosphere of said trunk had put me in the mood I was in now. Still disagreeing. Still working out my own ideas in my head. Still trying to protest that I needed to be the one to take on Dallas and that it was all real personal so I wanted to take the shot. Realised I so wasn't the team player I should be. No sir.

The screens in front of us show multiple angles of the exterior and interior of the building. The new L2 Conference Centre is a shiny building of glass and I hate it already - too many places and openings. I know damn well that we have set up the entire thing – got in touch with Wufei and got Preventer back up to assist the Winner security team. Know that we've paid some criminal types to spread rumours around the District about the Centre staff willingly taking bribes – primed the security forces to be ineffective at our selected entry point. It was like breadcrumbs or something. A process of a few days where we'd worked out the kinks until at least most of us were happy. Not yours truly but hey, you know, four outta five ain't bad.

Heero looks over at me and he gives me this slight quirk of the lips thing. I didn't realise how I was sat, that for some reason I've pretty much tucked my limbs underneath me in some kinda position that defies logic and looks damn near uncomfortable. One of my many quirks – rested and slept in so many weird and uncomfortable places during my childhood that I get myself into some weird positions when I want to – should've become a fucking contortionist in Tro's circus or something. Maybe my flexibility's a turn on – fuck knows.

I unfurled my limbs from my weird ass position and get to my feet and stretch before exiting the stupid cupboard that the surveillance has been put in. I'm sure it probably was a broom cupboard up until the point when the Winner Corp staff swept the floor yesterday and converted it into our lil' operation base. The main security room was being manned by Preventers – we'd broken into their feeds and were looking at nothing much at this point. There were three hours to go until the press conference and I hated the waiting. The entire plan is not my style, I don't sit and wait and watch. I get into the action, charm and weasel my way into the heart of the thing. It's just all too… still for me.

"I'm gonna see Quat."

There's not much to do. We're waiting. We're set up and I have my ulterior motives that I'm not gonna say shit about. I get a "yeah" that's basically grunted and his eyes go back to the screens, no longer interested in the contortions of my body or my stretches.

There's a Winner employed guard opposite our room. I know he's called Clarke and he doesn't give a shit who we are as he's been told that we're helping the boss. This floor is staffed in its entirety by Winner security – not the Preventers. Because of us. Because we'd tortured and left someone for dead a coupla days ago and knocked out Preventer agents and stole their guns. The reason we'd been brought into the building in the trunk of a town car.

We kinda figured the only car that wouldn't get searched thoroughly on entry into the cordon would be the car with Quatre in it – so we got intimately reacquainted with each other's bodies without any sex. Spent the journey wondering if sex was possible in that sorta space but then even my body ain't that flexible.

Quatre is in a meeting room with two guards outside and Lord knows how many inside. They glare at me but let me pass – I see he's stood by the window and want to knock his head against the nearest hard and stony surface. When people are out to shoot you, don't stand near windows, you know. Just logic or something. Probably has complete faith in the plan for all my protests. Hell, wasn't sure if there were any crack shots in Dallas' crew – figured the twins probably knew their way around a sniper rifle and maybe Dallas himself. The kids who'd stood guard on the rooftop of the hospital may have had some skills but doubted they knew more than point and shoot. Didn't think they had much skill. Huh, certainly not Zee. Didn't know how to hold a handgun never mind something more deadly.

"You don't notice the Kevlar," I said, alerting him to my presence. Figured he's so used to people just walking in on him that he doesn't hear my steps. Plus, I'm sneaky.

You honestly don't but I figure that Kevlar ain't enough if they go for a head shot – oh, hell, I know that the entire building is cordoned off. I know that every freaking window is being monitored, that every roof has the good guys on in it and that pretty much short of crashing through the window like, right now, the gang ain't gonna get near enough Quat to pop a shot and if they do – hell, I don't think Trowa will let them live. Or I suppose there's me. There's Heero. There's Wufei. The whole gang back together. No time for sentiment and beers and chat now. Just time to get the bad guys.

"You still think this is a bad idea," Quatre said.

I walk towards the window and see Monument Park below us. My fingertips touch the glass feeling the weird spinning thing of the floor to ceiling windows. The view shows the cordons, shows Preventers in tan jackets and men in suits, and I glance around the opposite buildings and see nothing more than windows gleaming in the fake daylight. The image should feel secure. This should be the most secure we could possibly be – all these damn Preventers and all this top notch security but I don't feel safe. The gun, the bombs and shit we can deal with. Not a virus strain.

"That obvious, huh?"

"We may not have seen each other for three years but you're very easy to read."

"Guess with the space heart thing…"

"No, just your body language."

I shrugged and looked back at him and felt for the thing in my back pocket. The recording device felt real small but this was a big gesture. If he was just reading my body language giving him this… maybe make him realise something.

"Can I ask you to do somethin' for me?"

"Of course, anything… Duo."

"Just… I want you to give this to Heero if anything… you know, goes south…"

Bingo. Blondie figures something's up. Really need to make less perceptive friends. Ones who don't see through me.

"Duo… what are you going to do?"

This is my moment for a dramatic exit – to look damn cool and walk away like I'd done so many times but I guess I stall a little this time. I'd made it half way across the room before I looked back with a shadow of the Shinigami smirk and see him stood in that suit. Still looks too big despite the body armour. Huh.

"Don't worry, Quatre… nothing stupid. Just may need to improvise."

There's a definite look of concern. Remember that it has always been easiest when it's just me against the world. Less people to hurt and disappoint. I walk outta the meeting room, past the Winner security staff who had secured this floor – he'd made a damn fuss about not trusting the Preventers and his own staff didn't bat an eyelash. Gotta love the loyalty Quat inspires in his people – bet they'd bleed for him.

I returned to the broom cupboard and watched the screens, tried to act natural and not at all weird, you know. The recording device is with Quatre, it's just the other item that feels heavy in my pocket and it's something I don't feel good about. I'm used to feeling like I'm doing wrong and bad things but this kinda takes it.

And all I can do is sit. For hours. Just peachy.

It takes over two hours for anything to happen. The monitors suddenly crackle and then descend into snow. The electronics have just been jammed. Dallas had one trick it seemed and it was one of mine. Pretty much hated him more. Then the alarm goes off. It makes this wailing sound that is fucking painful – I'm guessing it's some kinda fire alarm or security alarm – hell knows but it causes confusion and that's all that it needs to. It means they've breached the building – more than breached the perimeter. Our angles should've given us a perfect view but they didn't.

We had this planned – the service entrance to the kitchens was the entry point and we had installed more cameras to that location and extra surveillance yet we had no warning… how the hell? We wanted them to get into the building, wanted to get a visual on Dallas before we swooped but now we seemed to have jack shit and were firing blind.

Bad. They were in the building and now we had no comms with the lower floors to check the situation. They'd moved early, the conference centre was only partially full, the press kept to the main atrium and now the alarm would cause confusion and an evacuation… cause enough for some of the plain clothed gang to merge with the journalists. Snag a few nametags and press passes and they would get front row seats. This was meant to be a trap and I'd already figured ways that we could be screwed. Damn.

I know it's now or never. This is my shot. Sneak down in the confusion of alarms. Confront Dallas because I don't doubt he's a cocky enough shit to be here himself. He's me after all. I wouldn't miss out on the excitement – wouldn't let kids and lackeys do my job when I could be in the middle of the chaos and enjoy the show. Smile while I did. Hell, the thought of his smirk as I was beaten made me want this more.

"We move out," Heero said, reaching for his weapon and rising to his feet.

I kick back my chair and get to my feet and there's no distance between us as this is a broom cupboard. We stand for a second looking at each other – another show time, another time to save the day or something and there's always something, well, odd about this. You don't know if you're gonna see each other again. Yeah, this was less dangerous than other things we'd done but still…. But still Heero didn't know what I was thinking.

It takes one step to bridge the distance between us and place my hands around his waist, splay my fingers out and feel underneath the white t-shirt and grey shirt combo thing he has going on. I get a real puzzled look for my attempt at sensuality – soldier boy doesn't think this is the time or place and plus, it's time to 'move out' in old military speak but then he doesn't aggressively push me away or anything when my hand trails to the back of his neck. There's something about the confined space, maybe something about the situation and tension that means that he accepts the moment of contact more than I expected. Accepts my lips against his, tentatively at first, and I can't help my eyes slipping closed even though I know what I'm about to do. Try to hold onto the moment as I think I can't go back from what I'm about to do and what I plan on doing after…

I press forward a little, that sick part of me just wanting skin on skin contact and to feel his body against mine even in the middle of all this shit. He responds. Our kiss deepens and my tongue prods and probes for what it's worth and he accepts it before pushing forward a little and wars for some control. His hips push forward in that automatic thing and I just groan. Fuck. We're both halfway to hard and it ain't the time. It's like that even though we know we shouldn't be doing this, our bodies just want each other – we just want to crawl into each other's skin and kiss and fuck but it don't happen. I back off a fraction to leave clear air between our bodies but his hand is at the waistband of my jeans, a finger in the belt loops, the other in some kinda automatic thing is on my own neck underneath the braid where I'm sure he can feel the scars from my botch job of removing the tracker. I guess he didn't feel my hand as we kissed. Only ever known one way to get Heero to not be so damn aware of his surroundings and forget some of that training and that was with using my body, sticking my tongue down his throat or rubbing suggestively against him and I'm not below using those skills.

My eyes look deep into his and I guess my face betrays something even in the low light of the flickering screens. He senses something but his reactions ain't quick enough for once – or hell, I've been the most deceptive I've ever been. No lies. Didn't say a word. Only the pressure of a needle in his neck. Thanks doc. The Preventer doctor had supplied me with a plentiful supply of drugs and sedatives that were Yuy strength – or so I thought…

There's a look of complete betrayal with the plunge of the needle and I think for a second that I miscalculated the amount of sedative and it's not enough to knock him out. The word shit manages to go through my head as he grunts slightly but I can feel the slackness of his body as he starts to slump forward onto me, his head falling to my shoulder.

Think of saying something witty and clever into his ear. Something to make him remember what a dick he was on L3 X-18999. Should say one for zero or something. Least there was some dignity when he sucker punched me in the gut – gave me the chance to throw the first punch before he took the entire air supply from my body and knocked me out. This feels sneaky and we both know it. I don't go for a witty comment as his eyes flutter and he stumbles more into my arms.

"Sorry, babe."

I doubt he hears it as he's pretty much becoming a dead weight in my arms and, hell, he sure is a dead weight. All muscle. All compact and all damn heavy in my arms without him taking any of his body weight. I feel his breath tickle my neck as I awkwardly get him to the floor in the confined space. The glaring of the metallic walls feels harsher as I lay him on the floor in the glow of flickering computer screens. I brush away his hair from his forehead in some kinda affectionate thing, feeling something sting deep down. It becomes instinct to lean down and softly ghost across his lips an apology that ain't an apology.

"You wouldn't let me do what I needed to do."

I might as well tell the fucking walls for all the levels of understanding he has at this moment but, hell, I find myself talking.

"You'll forgive me… someday…"

It takes me a second to move, with the low glow of computer screens showing feeds of static interference. This glow thing… just softened his features… took away that harshness. Made him look younger. Made me feel damn bad about everything we'd gotten ourselves into. There was, well, to me, always something innocent about Heero Yuy. Not in a psychopathic Gundam pilot killer way, just in the ways of harsh reality. He'd not had to deal with the sorta people that I'd known all my life – not had to live among the scum of the earth and all. Just been so sheltered in his own little way. And unconscious on the floor, he just looked so untouched and it damn well hurt to leave him like this and the look of betrayal… that was worse than every stab wound and beating I'd ever taken. Fuck.

I stand and look down at him. Words bubble up but none of them are important now and he can't even hear me but somehow they just want to be said.

"Listen to the recording. You might understand."

I slip out of the room and out onto the brightly lit corridor. The floor has been evacuated as has the rest of the building and I hear the thrum of an alarm system in full force now that I'm outside the tiny isolation of the closet. I don't know where the Winner guards are. I have no idea where Quatre is and a part of me just don't care. Let me get Dallas. Let me find Roth. Revenge is sure as hell a great motivator. My companion since I was a kid – my wartime buddy – revenge was part of who I was and always would be. Shinigami and revenge. Sometimes seemed like all I'll ever be.

The bathroom is empty as expected, the alarm sounding less prominent in the john. I take a deep breath and feel my hands shake slightly as I extract the baggy from my back pocket and tip the contents by the sink. The small pink heart shaped pills fall soundless but then I feel like they make small explosions. My heart already feels like its jumping outta my chest – my lungs are fucking finding it hard to breath and my adrenalin is running a mile a minute. It's like battle but I can't maintain this shit now. The virus wiped me more than I've let on – not to Heero. Not to the usually so damn perceptive Quatre. Not to the miracle medical worker Trowa – the man who can put self-destructed boys back together. Nope, none of them figured it out – how I'm struggling to take steps in straight lines, how my bodies a fucking mess of hormones and infection and I'm coping because that's what I do, what I always do, but it don't help. These will.

I'm not naïve – no one can ever accuse me of it. Damn, don't think I was ever innocent. Not like sleeping beauty in the control room. I knew this should be labeled a bad idea – that this should not be done. How much shit can one nineteen year old body take? I'd treated my body like shit for most of my life – a patch work of scars and wounds and let's not even think about zero g's and the internal shit from battles. Just don't. Don't also think about the amount of drinking that I'd done for someone as young as I was or the fact my diet consisted of junk or not much at all to the occasional dabbles with drugs I'd taken on undercover ops. Let's say, I think medically, I'd be fucked by the time I got into my mid-twenties anyway.

So I'm totally wide eyed as I look at the tiny heart shaped pills in the strip lights of a fancy bathroom in a pretty shiny conference centre. I don't know if they're good shit. Didn't know Jorge's pedigree as a dealer. Tried to remember, pinching the bridge of my nose and leaning forward, trying to fucking think what rep Duke had in his day but it's all a haze… all a blur and I just decide to go for three pills. No exact idea why. I just figure one won't touch me. Two will get me somewhere and three will, you know, do what I want. I swallow two and then get the third and decide to grind it a little before rubbing it into my gums in some attempt to get it into my bloodstream quicker. I pocket the rest of the baggy not wanting to leave illicit drugs that look like candy randomly within reach of kiddies or unsuspecting idiots, you know, deep down somewhere I'm a sweetheart. I run the water and lean over awkwardly to drink some before splashing some on my face.

For a second I see the guy in the mirror. I don't really look at myself very much anymore – don't see that I'm pale and there's still traces of bruises over my face, don't see that I look like hell and probably deserve it. I feel like the drugs are already working – know it's only a psychological thing as they'll take a little time to get absorbed into the blood stream but my hearts doing this banging against my rib cage thing. Like I'd been running for my life among rubble. Like I'd been dead centre in the middle of a battle scything through mobile dolls. Like I'd been in a vicious punch up. Whatever, it's doing this weird thing. Duh dum. Duh dum. Too fucking quick.

"Bad idea, Duo," I said to myself which pretty much compounds the fact that I'm crazy.

Sure as hell already know that. I straighten up and ignore the slight spinning and concentrate on the slight outta body-ness of the situation. Go with it or something. I'd been high before but this was, well, I have no idea – suppose it's more adrenalin. Maybe like being pumped full of the ZERO system or something.

My hand does a slight shaking thing as I grab for my gun and check the clip. The knife is in my front pocket and I check it's still there – paranoia must be a side effect or something. The walk out of the bathroom is fine and I realise that I'm being a hypochondriac or something. Some kinda placebo effect – I have taken the drug therefore I think it's working straight away or something.

The alarm still rings and I feel like I'm having some war flashback – walking through OZ bases but the whole excessive amount of glass and chrome removes some of that feeling. It's light. Bright. But I feel dizzy as I start in a jog towards the stairs – we are on the fucking eighth floor and the elevators ain't gonna work. I half-heartedly press the call button as I pass but know it's pointless – I feel like we've totally underestimated this. Most of the time I like being right being that people expect me to be the idiot but sometimes… not so good to be right.

Instead, I'm running down eight flights of stairs and contemplating dangling off and jumping and I can't tell if it's because I'm usually this reckless or I can feel something altering my usual stellar picture of mental health. My heartbeat reverberates through my entire body like a tattoo, matching the wailing of the alarms sound. Duh dum. Duh dum.

There's the sound of rattling gunfire from somewhere and I have no idea where the hell it came from. I just go on faith that they've moved Quatre away. I just forget the Preventers and the press conference plan and make my way down to the ground floor – this is totally between me and Dallas and that's what it's gonna become.

But then the first stab through my chest happens and I'm feeling squeezing and fuck knows what else… It stops me and I'm leaning against the wall of the third floor stairs and listening to the alarms and the too loud sound of my own heartbeat.

Duh dum.

Fuck. Squeeze.

Duh dum.

When in hell did I remotely think this was a good idea?

Duh dum.