A/N: Just a quick note of thanks to everybody who is already following and favouriting this fic! And I also wanted to answer msusagi - yes, Duo's pacemaker is permanent and it is important to the plot so thanks for making me highlight it.

This chapter's song is Munich by the Editors.

I will warn readers, I am away next week but as chapter 3 is written and beta-d (thanks ELLE) I will put in my doc manager and update from my phone – if it doesn't appear then that will be because the internet signal sucks. I am going to be in the middle of a forest so we'll see how it goes!

Chapter Two

Things You Should Know

The drive was pretty silent. I wasn't in the mood to make conversation and I still felt the slight hint of alcohol in my system. I put the radio on but the whole world had started speculating about the condition of a certain princess so I turned it off and put my feet up on the dash, not giving a shit about the dust and dirt I left there.

This was technically his car – practical and boring and shit so I know he damn well looked at me doing it but I still did it as I sat looking through my phone and figuring out who I needed to contact and what jobs I should be doing. Not as easy to run anymore, I figured, no longer as easy as just picking up the go bag despite the fact that I had it packed and ready to go. I looked over to him and put my boots down, rubbed away the hint of mud I'd left behind. I hadn't asked where we were headed – just went along on blind faith and I decided I should ask. Make conversation. Hell, that was damn near impossible when Heero was in his current frame of mind.

"Which airport?"

"Private airfield."

"Distance?"

He glanced at the dash and was calculating, he may have been wearing shades but his mind works in certain ways and in those ways I was well versed. He was calculating distance and speed and how far we'd already travelled to give me an accurate number. Something I still don't know how he does.

"Approximately 45 miles."

"Approximately, 'Ro? You losing your touch being out of action?"

The stab at humour was probably a little misjudged but I figured it was better than the deafening silence of the car ride.

"I cannot calculate potential traffic hazards."

"Yeah," I said, a little resigned and turned to look out of the window at the dusty roads around us. "Can't calculate what you don't know."

Too much we didn't know. I didn't want to say the thing that he was probably thinking as much as I was. If she'd died, we'd know. They'd announce it. It would become the world's biggest news story within minutes so I don't say it. Instead, I looked back at the phone, at the schedule for an old Cadillac wreck I'd been paid a damn nice deposit for the repair and then closed down the screen and shoved it back in my pocket.

"I'm guessing Quatre."

"Yeah."

He hadn't explicitly said why we would be going to be a private airfield but I had two guesses in mind. One was the Preventers but considering our amazing disappearing act, that was a long shot, so my other guess was blondie.

"Thought they were in the colonies," I said, now studying the grime and grit that always seemed to live under my nails and picking it at as this car journey was awkward.

"San Francisco."

That was probably all the words I would get from him unless I pushed and right now, pushing was not the best move. But I'm not usually known for doing the best thing – the right thing. Evidenced by the fact I'm twenty one and my heart only beats with the help of a tiny device so I just go ahead. If he wants to block me out, he can go ahead but I figured we were better to do this here, in our car, rather than in front of Quatre and Trowa. Or in Sanc where there would be press and Preventers and the issue of whether Relena was going to survive.

"I wasn't planning on leaving, you know, I just had it in case shit got bad."

It was true. I never truly planned on bailing. I just never truly planned on staying either, somewhere, deep down, I just wasn't a 'one place' kinda guy and I didn't know how to explain that in a way that didn't hurt Heero. As I never wanted to be away from him, I just wanted to know I could move. Fuck if I knew how to explain myself. Let's just say I have a shitload of intimacy issues and leave it at that.

Heero didn't answer, focused, mouth set in a straight line and I wished we weren't driving and we weren't driving towards a flight to the Sanc Kingdom. I wanted to make him look at me.

"'Ro… talk to me."

"You had fake IDs."

"Yeah."

"And money in multiple currencies."

"Well, yeah…"

"And you weren't planning on leaving?"

"No. It was just, you know, there."

Wow. Excellent display of articulateness but I figured that the conversation was over as Heero actually turned on the radio – something I have never seen him do which signalled the fact that he really did not want to talk.

The rest of the car journey was in the less than comfortable silence between us as some music that neither of us liked played quietly in the background on the only radio station that wasn't giving minute by minute updates on Relena's condition. The not talking thing was more reassuring than anything we could discuss. Probably best to let our emotional shit stay underneath the surface. We were both pretty awesome at that. He hid behind his stone wall and I went for the smirk and humour. Both had exactly the same effect.

The private airfield expected us and I would expect no less of Quatre as we were let through gates after a good look at both of us by a dumb looking security guy. A guy who looked like a donut eating cliché. And then Heero pulled the car up on the tarmac off the runway and we got out, grabbed bags, and leaned against it waiting for the jet to land. I thought for a second about leaving the car in a random place but hell, I didn't know how long it would be until we came back or if we ever would. The whole go bag issue could be the end of us. The pressure of Relena coming close to death could be. It wasn't a nice thought so I buried it. Deal with it later. I stood close enough to him against the car that we could touch but we didn't, that small barrier of distance between us as I put my aviators on and looked up to see the descent of the jet.

I raised my hand to my eyes as it began its landing, watching the process I knew so damn well from the other side. There was a rush to landing – not quite as awesome as taking off but there was a rush.

I whistled as the private jet landed. I'd always guessed that Quat had shit like that. Always figured that he'd have a private shuttle and private jet and a yacht and whatever but I'd never really seen the full extent of his wealth. It didn't have obvious markings – I kinda expected a huge Winner Corporations logo in big fuck off lettering but maybe that is not entirely wise being that he was a public target who received a large quantity of death threats in his day to day life. Instead there was no indication it belonged to him at all. It was vaguely disappointing.

The landing made somewhere deep down in me sting – there was nothing on earth or the colonies that compared with piloting – yeah, great sex was fucking incredible and the pure adrenalin of being on the edge of death in the middle of mission had some excitement but piloting, it's in your blood and seeing the jet land smoothly made my heart race. I glanced over to Heero to see if he had some feelings on this – I knew he did, that deep down, like me he'd never felt a rush quite like that. And yeah, piloting a private jet would be nothing like a Gundam, hell, nothing like a space shuttle and getting into L3 X-18999 without dying and exploding but it brought with it longing that I couldn't describe to someone who didn't know it. I was kinda happy to be a passenger most of the damn time but as the stairs descended, there was a part of me that just wanted to shanghai the thing and remember what it felt like to control something like that and fly.

With the stair's descent appeared a familiar blonde head and that was followed by Trowa. I tried to think of the last time we'd spoken. The last time we'd seen them was fucking forever but that was all Q. He was still overseeing the final parts of the L2 Project and whatever else the earth sphere's richest twenty one year old does with his time and well, that life didn't really have much time for old war buddies. It seemed like we all needed a motherfucking crisis to get us in the same room. I thought about making a joke about it but then it felt wrong because Wufei wasn't with us and technically it ain't all of us. And 'Fei, shit, I hadn't spoken to him since he kissed my forehead and did the damn honourable thing – even though I'd royally fucked him over. I'd heard from Quat he'd left undercover ops in a storm cloud and had gone to a different division of the Preventers whenever we'd last spoken… which was a million years ago.

Wufei wasn't something me and 'Ro talked about – mainly because I'd declared some kind of feelings for him on that stupid recording Heero heard when I was hoping I was going to die. Being alive, having my heart artificially kept beating and generally having Heero hear Duo feelings vomit was not something we discussed and 'Fei was not a topic that I'd brought up for so long.

There are some things that will never cease to amaze me about Quatre and I'm thinking about that when we exchange a big manly bro hug – or maybe not so manly but we're both not smiling despite the long term absence. There's still this openness despite all the shit – all the bad stuff, Quat knows, he ain't naïve, and sure as fuck Trowa can't hide all the threats that have been made on his life, but then he just goes ahead. Doesn't care. Tries to make things better – tries to atone like we all do in our own little ways.

When Quat released me, I gave him a lopsided smile.

"I'd say it's good to see you guys but under the circumstances it kinda sucks."

I get a small smile and Quat turned to Heero. I'm guessing that Heero and Trowa have some sort of silent greeting and I just did a raise of my eyebrows to acknowledge him – fuck if I will ever know what to say to that guy. Give me a hundred years and a full psyche evaluation and I'd still never know. Yeah, at times, even I don't have a witty line and lose my supply of seemingly endless sarcasm.

"Heero," he said, sympathy that he wouldn't want or need in his voice.

I'm surprised at Quatre's utter fearlessness as he hugs Heero in a kinda awkward way. Physical contact is definitely one of those areas that Heero still struggles with. I've gotten somewhere – when we were around town, he'd let me lean against him and shit like that – but other people? Not so much. The only reason he doesn't physically flinch is that it is Quatre and he is one of us. But its awkward and clearly only one person is engaging the hug. When he stepped back, Heero nodded and that was apparently all his greeting. I wanted to make a joke about how me and Quat had ended up with a coupla of silent types with issues but right now… I'm still figuring that lightning the mood is not a good move.

"She's still in surgery, Wufei sent us the initial report and it looks promising. The bullet entered her in the lower abdomen. It appeared to miss anything vital," Quatre explained but directed his words to Heero.

"They know who?" I asked.

"We have the report on a tablet – you can look when the wheels are up."

"Then lead the way."

I readjusted my bag over my shoulder and let Heero go in front of me to board up the small set of stairs. I'd never been on a private jet and there was a certain flashiness and wealth about the whole thing that made me attempt to rub some of the dust off the soles of my boots – not that it would do any good.

On entering, I saw the door to the cockpit open and instantly recognised the pilot and co-pilot. Felt like a million years ago. Rashid stood but Abdul remained in the co-pilot chair, just looked over his sunglasses at me and I raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Master Duo," Rashid said and offered his hand in greeting.

Standing in the cockpit door, it reminded me of meeting the Maganacs at fifteen and thinking that Rashid was freaking tall but now at twenty one I was still thinking the same. I thought maybe becoming a fully-fledged adult would make him less intimidating but hell, I suppose, he was a big guy and I'd not been blessed with height.

"You know, you really don't have to do the master shit," I said, embarrassed, releasing his hand scratching the back of my head.

"Oh, he does," Quatre said and I turned to see the extent of the luxury provided by a private jet and tried not to react like the poor relation who doesn't know how to act in polite company or something.

The seats were nothing like standard shuttle flights, four in large plush leather, a table in between them with an arrangement of flowers and a fruit basket and muffins. Jesus, I just sometimes totally forgot this – that this was where Quatre came from and no wonder he'd had a ton of guilt over how things had happened between us as he could afford this and I couldn't have afforded to buy the stolen motorcycle I'd been on all those years ago at that party in Sanc. Oh wait, I could. Just with stolen funds.

Quat and Tro were settling back into seats and I let Heero take the window seat for some reason – I felt his mood was not entirely conducive for conversation so the fact that he could look out and watch the sky or something might be soothing for him. Fuck did I know despite the fact he'd removed his sunglasses, putting them in his duffle which he left at the side of his feet and I did the same with my own. I sat down next to him feeling weird to be on a flight surrounded by this level of luxury. No fighting over arm rests. Seats so large that it was damn near impossible to touch Heero never mind irritate him.

"No leggy blonde air hostesses, huh, Quat?"

"I travel with minimal staff – makes security easier, less people know my whereabouts," he replied, his eyes glancing towards Trowa who nodded at that.

The door was being closed and pre-flight checks were being done and Trowa silently passed over a tablet to Heero, the relevant pages already open of whatever preliminary report was available. I leaned over the armrest to see the supply of crime scene photographs and the limited intelligence that was currently available.

"They don't know who or why yet," Quatre said, as I watched Heero quickly flick through pages of text and images. "All they know is that at an official function, a single gunman opened fire who had been employed as a waiter for the evening."

I straightened up and looked at Quatre as the sound of the engines reverberated and the jet began to move. Our conversation stalled as the jet had stopped in place for its ascent and then the sudden feeling of take-off, of engine on full throttle and the seemingly impossible fight between gravity and machine that we all knew damn well – the fight that the pilot won as I saw the ground disappear from my vantage point and the jet continue to climb. None of us felt any fear of take-off considering our considerable experience – tell me there are four guys who are twenty one in the same room who've had more flight time than us collectively and I'll tell say you're a liar – but maybe there's a reverence or something about it. Maybe we all miss it. I'm sure Quatre or Trowa could just pilot the thing if they wanted. I would ask Quat if they still did. Ask if I could borrow the thing and pilot it to Vegas or something.

"They check that shit," I said finally, after the jet had levelled, "they don't just let a terrorist pretend to be a waiter. It's Sanc."

Quatre shrugged. "They missed him. His background check was completely clear. The Preventers think false identity and one that was very complicated – finger prints amended somehow. He had help."

The image of the shooter was on the tablet. A name attached. Aaron Jones. It sounded pretty damn dull as I looked over Heero's shoulder at the guy. He looked young. And the text stated he was British, educated in London and had travelled to Sanc to complete his post graduate study. He'd taken a job for a catering company – a heavily vetted and high class catering company through a recommendation from a rich family member. And that's how he'd ended up in but it still seemed impossible to me – the security checks for employees and visitors and fucking anybody's admittance into the Sanc palace was extreme and I don't understand how one average looking guy could bypass that.

I turned back to Quatre and Trowa leaving Heero to scan through the same set of images. "How close did the shooter get?"

"Within a foot according to eye witnesses," Trowa answered, the first thing I'd heard him say in this whole reunion. But then his job was security and it was him probably critiquing the team that had allowed someone to get within that distance to their intended target. I imagine nobody got that near Q – Trowa had that whole protective bullshit thing and I'm sure he'd rip someone limb from limb if something happened to Quat. Probably made him the best fucking head of security ever. Plus, he had lions – shit if that's not a scary thought.

"Then why ain't she dead?"

I heard myself say the sentence before the inevitable "fuck, I shouldn't say that" thing had kicked in. I realised I'd said the words that no one else dared speak – and I'd been too motherfucking blunt. Oh, well, can't take it back.

"If he got that close then you shoot to kill. You shoot to the head, the heart… vital organs," I said realising how terribly insensitive I am being but, you know, once you start, can't fucking stop. "But she's alive. The stomach. It hurts but it don't kill unless she don't receive medical attention straight away. That suggests to me that they don't want her dead."

My whole theory is unwelcome from the other occupants of the jet and I figured that.

"Duo's right. Getting that close to a target should guarantee a kill," Heero agreed, his voice monotone but I looked over at him and tried to be reassuring.

That stopped the discussions with a bang and I realised we were all probably lost in our own thoughts. Quatre made a comment about getting some sleep and it proved a good idea – guessed none of us would know when we'd sleep again once we landed so the lights got dimmed and the windows shutters put down as we flew over the continental United States towards the Atlantic Ocean.

I looked over to Heero who'd finally put down the tablet having read every detail a dozen times. He did not need to read something more than once usually but now he'd read everything so many times and looked at every crime scene photograph so closely. I couldn't tell what he was thinking as he rested his head so that he looked away from me. My gaze shifted to where Quat and Tro were, both apparently sleeping though with former Gundam pilots, they might not be. Could be just using relaxation techniques, breathing deeply and trying to force sleep and rest.

The armrest had been moved between them and Quatre was leaning against Trowa's shoulder. It was not an overly sweet or romantic position. There were no arms around each other, instead, just this gentle touch. I'd observed them in the past and seen that while they so weren't a perfect couple – I knew that, from Quatre, from the fact that the extent of their relationship was hidden and the shit storm of pressure that put on them – but they looked natural together. And it felt almost too intimate to observe it. It was like, I could handle seeing them make out or something but that's all about lust and shit, but that sitting together and being vulnerable and connected – that was more intimate than any sexual position or anything me and Heero had ever done together. It made me look back towards Heero, seeing his hand loose on the arm rest that still divided us despite the fact we did not need to hide us, this, on board a private jet with friends and some employees of said friend. I reached out to his fingers, twining them with my own cautiously and looking at that connection rather than his face in the low level lighting of the cabin. I couldn't say sorry or tell him that everything was okay but I could touch him and that… right now, that had to be enough.

"Do you want us to be like that?" he said, quietly, in the gloom.

I blinked and looked up, realising what Heero was asking me. It made me pause. I had no snappy retort or quick and smart comeback for that. I didn't need to do that – be like Quatre and Trowa. I needed him but I didn't need constant reassurance physically or even emotionally. Maybe I was a little too independent. Maybe we both were. My focus went back our hands, both callused from too many battles and too many violent incidents.

"Naw, just want us to be like us."