Disclaimer: I don't own a thing (as sad as that realization is), except for the words I've written.
Warnings: Rated for adult language (Duo's got quite a surly mouth and mind), some violence, and mild adult themes.
A/N: Hey look at that, a somewhat normal update! I absolutely want to hear what you think at this current juncture as the plot starts to thicken. Read? Review?
Maxwell
Chapter 18: Figure Out What's Real & What's Pretend
Home - Nine Inch Nails
It had been little over one hour since the attack and Duo's apparent abduction according to the watch strapped to Wufei's wrist. Just enough time for Preventer to have the place taped off, interviewing overtly emotional witnesses, and creating quite a buzz with the local media.
The four remaining ex-pilots stood within the shadows of the immense building, watching carefully as a young Preventer painstakingly interviewed a long line of cocktail waitresses, their scantily clad tuxedo-like uniforms entirely out of place next to the navy suit of the agent. The woman who was next in line, her reddish hair cropped clean above her shoulders, examining her fingernails with boredom was, according to Quatre, the woman they had gone to all this trouble to speak with. Menta Rolland.
So far, it had taken every fiber of their collective beings not to rush at the nearest Preventer, flash a badge, some form of identification, or a damned Glock in their face and demand immediate investigation as to just what had happened to their impulsive comrade. But, they were not supposed to be there- meddling, tampering, getting into trouble- and so, for the 'integrity of the mission,' they found themselves waiting, tense and uneasy.
Heero had scoured the entire property with a fine tooth comb, as close as he could get with the ever roaming Preventer force, but had come up empty. He'd recently joined them in the shadows, something unnerving about the blankness of his features, something the others hadn't seen since the war some time ago.
"The casino is just a cover perhaps?" Trowa murmured.
They'd since been biding their time and hiding their anxiety through thinly veiled conversation in regards to the investigation. Figuring shit out seemed to be the only thing they could attempt to do in regards to finding Duo at the moment anyways. So far, they weren't getting very far.
"Using a casino as a cover for something more substantially illicit? Isn't that a bit, I don't know, clichéd?" Wufei brushed it off, irritation radiating off of him in waves. It was something that Duo might have said- definitely would have said- if he'd been there himself to do so.
Trowa frowned back. "Regardless of that then, it all seems to boil back down to Heero's replica."
"Does Winner Corp ever dabble in DNA research?" Wufei shot the question towards Quatre who had yet to contribute much to the speculatory discussion. It seemed he was wrapped up in his own mind, strategizing perhaps, or else over-thinking and deconstructing the entirety of the case like Wufei felt he was about to start doing any second.
"We do not 'dabble' in things, we invest in things," he responded sharply. "Recently we have been surveying the colonies for a health care renewal program. Taking hospitals previously used during the war, refurbishing them and opening them to the general public's needs. To my knowledge, that's about as close to DNA as we get."
Wufei sighed. "But the funding-"
"To my knowledge." Quatre gave him a pointed look, uncharacteristically annoyed at the man's brashness. "Besides, that funding request has got to be under-the-table. It's not logged anywhere in the Winner Corp servers."
That prompted a grunt from Heero. His body was hidden furthest in the shadows, leaning against the building's stone exterior, arms folded over his chest, hiding any concern with stoic silence. "Then how did the media get ahold of such information?"
Quatre's shoulders slumped in response. "You're guess is as good as mine right now."
Wufei was about to ask another question that would probably send the conversation back down its invariable spiral when the flick of Trowa's attention towards a woman walking their way caused him to abruptly shut his mouth.
Quatre was the closest to her as she passed by and out of the four of them probably the most likely not to get kicked in the groin for approaching the woman with impending need for a private conversation and so he took up a natural smile and silently accepted his duty.
"Excuse me, Ms. Rolland?" His voice was beyond charming, his eyes wide and curious.
Menta turned at her name, clearly not having expected anyone to address her in such a way, considering their current whereabouts. She paused, eyeing him up and down with little emotion. When her vision finally met his own again she did not appear impressed.
"Yeah?" Her tone was icy and she narrowed her eyes.
For some uncertain reason her hostility caused the vein in Wufei's forehead to protrude. He found himself advancing out of the background to join Quatre, a strangled sound from Trowa and the feeling of Heero's fingers reaching for his bicep not stopping him from his trek forward.
At this new movement Menta's eyes flickered to Wufei and then to Heero and Trowa and then back to Quatre, the orbs having grown slightly with every next glance. She opened her mouth to speak, her hard demeanor visibly melting, and then closed it again, a sense of panic coming over her features. Menta stared at them all again, now together as a complete package, and she shook her head almost infinitesimally, almost as if she recognized them, incredulous.
"We just need a moment of your time." Wufei stepped forward, Preventer protocol coming through his words now. Menta looked like she might up and bolt full speed the other direction and he had to work fast with the damage control. She was some semblance of a suspect after all.
But then she was moving towards him, grabbing ahold of his forearm and moving her lips close to his ear. "Listen, I can't talk here," she hissed, her eyes scanning the surroundings as if expecting to find a sniper leveling a rifle at her head. "But I might be able to help- if you know where to find me."
She then proceeded to thrust a small card into Wufei's palm and turned on her heel so fast none of the men could get another word in, as if they even knew what to say in return.
When Wufei looked down at the card a hot, scarlet blush assaulted his milky skin. It was the size of a business card, but lacked the appropriate classic lettering or simple name and address. Instead an image of a woman, clad in nothing more than a bikini two times too small for her curvaceous form was plastered across the front.
As his companions gathered to stare down at the card he gripped furiously between pointer and thumb, Wufei tried to hide his fluster by flipping the photo to find the more pertinent information, an address to a nearby 'gentleman's club' and its hours of operation.
When he'd finally looked up from the card, fighting furiously to regain composure, he caught the tail end of a smirk from Trowa and Quatre was stifling a laugh from behind raised fingers. Heero stared blankly at him which somehow only seemed to make him feel worse.
"Let's go," Wufei bit out, storming past Trowa who did nothing to stop the other man from pushing into his arm with his shoulder as he passed by.
The taller man followed, Quatre and Heero bringing up the rear. Trowa raised an eyebrow. "I guess we have some time to kill. Need a cold shower before tonight, Chang?"
Wufei chose discretionally to ignore the man's chiding. He'd just been surprised to be handed such an indecent advertisement, that was all. He clenched his teeth as they approached the valet stand, pushing through a group of Preventers none of them recognized, though still keeping their heads down.
He certainly did not appreciate Trowa apparently feeling the need to take over in the absence of Duo's one-liners, dry as his own brand of humor seemed to be. Dammit, Maxwell, why did you have to go and get yourself kidnapped?
Duo's vision cleared before his musculatory functions came back to him and that sensation of helplessness irritated him more than the fact that he had counted the ceiling tiles four times over now, but still could not quite make out the row hovering precariously just above where his eyes could see. There were thirty-two for the record, though three of the small tiles were conspicuously missing.
His nerve endings tingled and he could sense that he was yet again not restrained, though whatever sedative he'd been given this time had seriously fucked with his mind and body. He'd been forced into some sort of limbo where his ears could still decipher the sounds of feet scuffling nearby, doors closing, and the faint sound of his own breathing. But up until now he hadn't even had the strength to open his eyes. He was damn well ready to kill the first person he could get his hands on- when he could actually get the muscles in his hands to move that is.
He allowed himself to lay in silence for a few more moments, trying not to concentrate on the constricting sensation he could feel about his chest as if his lungs might stop working at any second. Hell, he had a new appreciation for quadriplegics, the war having left many more of them in this world than one might think. It wasn't unusual to see a wheelchair bound veteran from time to time, on Earth or in the colonies. Duo's stomach soured just thinking about it.
Duo counted the tiles again. There were still thirty-two in his line of sight. But he'd since noticed a pins and needles sensation that had begun to flow from the tips of his fingers upwards into his hands; slowly his capability of movement was coming back to him.
His mind twitched cruelly to the thoughts he'd been wrestling with since his unwanted sedation. The image of Michael Richardson's face, still somewhat contorted in rigor mortis, though his eyes had been chastely closed to the living world around him, played on repeat over the projectors in Duo's memory. Why were those bodies here- in this still unknown place- with him? Rook and Richardson, but not the others from the list? Was there more odd death yet for him to discover? And why had these M.R.'s been so brutally assassinated in the first place?
The questions swam through Duo's mind like a panicked school of fish trying to evade an imminent predator. He wondered vaguely if Heero had ever felt this same amount of confusion and paranoia in his lifetime. He wondered how the man had dealt with the stresses of being the 'Savior of Earth,' realizing he knew so little about that time in his companion's life- it was his own fucking fault of course, what with running and hiding and all, but still he oftentimes wondered.
Heero seemed so capable, so headstrong, so single-minded. Consequently that's what made his missions so smooth, so handled, so thought-out. But there had to be a chink in that armor somewhere. Wufei, Trowa, Quatre, they all had their share of faults. But where was Heero's hiding? He thought he'd seen it somewhere before, the memory of naked bodies intertwined, hot, angry, pounding together with the thrill of teenage hormones and the need for release fueling their movements. Had Heero been as vulnerable then as Duo had felt?
For a moment he thought that a wave of jealously had washed over him, but realized he'd mistook the sensations of muscles coming back to life as an emotion he had only felt sparingly throughout life, if ever. Jealousy was gratuitous, unnecessary, it simply weighed one down, especially on the streets, a backwater colony, or when wielding a giant machine of death, Gundam or not.
Just as Duo was concentrating on extending and constricting his fingers in an attempt to form fists the sudden sound of beeping machines filtered into the air, muffled somewhat, telling him that wherever the noise was located, it wasn't in this room with him.
It was hard to tear themselves away from the impending sense of doom that seemed to loom over them in the form of some sort of disgruntled and beaten down shinigami creature of omniscience. Duo Maxwell was gone, but the feeling still lingered, and all they could do was sit about and twiddle their thumbs and pretend not to be biding their time right under Preventer's watchful nose.
The colony's night cycle had begun nearly an hour before but they'd waited, begrudgingly forced themselves to eat some sort of sustenance three blocks down from their final destination, and then had made the trek slowly towards the club that Menta Rolland had so abruptly directed them to. It was tastefully titled 'The Penthouse Club' and the cursive lettering was lit in purple neon.
They sat in the car for a few moments, staring at the building, perhaps working up some sort of game-plan, though Quatre had been relatively quiet on the strategy front over dinner. Instead, they'd chosen to discuss some possible motives in-line with their case, though the amount of mindless speculation had put Wufei in a bad mood nearly from the start.
"They were trying to separate us. Maybe waiting for someone to storm out after a prefabricated argument or one of us to up and leave the investigation altogether," Quatre had suggested, eyeing the others for input.
"Duo. They were trying to separate Duo from the rest of us," Heero had said, his face as unreadable as it had been since their comrade's disappearance.
Trowa had chosen to counter. "Then why bring us together in the first place?"
"It may be a surprise to you, but Duo Maxwell is a rather impossible person to find and keep tabs on," Wufei had reluctantly added with a nearly indistinguishable sneer of sarcasm.
"So they were using Preventer to pull him out of the shadows? Whoever it was needed a valid reason for his resurface." Trowa's response had hung heavily in the air between them.
The thought hadn't warranted more of an explanation. Heero had frowned and Wufei had transparently attempted not to make the eye contact he'd wanted to. Duo had only agreed to help because it was Heero's body which had been found dead, dropped in the middle of nowhere.
Quatre had shrugged. "Maybe they weren't trying to separate us. Maybe things went awry, they saw an opening and took it. For all we know, it could have been any of us if they'd had the chance."
And with that Wufei had bit off the cyclical discussion. "Maybe. But there are way too many 'maybes' floating around this conversation for my taste."
It had grown to become just another dead-end dialogue adding to the ever growing pile of questions and theories stored amongst their collective minds.
But by the time they'd all managed to pull themselves from their vehicle, allow their eyes to sift through their new surroundings, still on high alert for unwanted eyes and ears, Wufei had packed away his earlier distaste for their back-and-forth in lieu of what was next on their ever-convoluted agenda.
Quatre had, almost in hindsight, suggested that Trowa take the lead on this one. The man holding an uncanny ability to charm his way in and out of any situation, taking on a persona that left his other companions constantly wondering where 'Trowa Barton' began and his other personalities left off. He was easily the most unruffled of the four, including Heero, and it had already been unfortunately proven that perhaps this would not be where Wufei's strong suits currently lied, as difficult as that had been to swallow.
Barton was the right choice though. They'd get their information, it would be efficient, in-and-out, no complications. That was the best case scenario, but realistically Wufei understood it would probably end up being the worst, what with their recent track record.
They entered with an air of false bravado which was quickly snuffed out by the dark lights, smokey air, and thumping hum of indiscernible music coming from speakers placed strategically near the doorway to draw the customers inward.
Wufei took in his new surroundings with eyes of an agent, clinical and calculating. The walls were cinder blocks painted a dark plum to hide their roughness. The air smelled heavily of leather evidently coming from the dozens of dark upholstered chairs littering the expansive room before them, some facing a stage while others were grouped together in threes and fours to create little social nests around cocktail tables. There was a bar to the right, black and plain, and lacking the addition of stools, but sorely not lacking in the liquor that lined illuminated shelves of glass against the wall.
Besides the low music it was relatively quiet, a few groups of men cornered about the room only half watching the olive skinned woman wrapping her near naked body about a silvery pole on the stage at the center of the establishment's purpose. She moved gracefully and less provocatively than Wufei might have predicted, her forms slow and powerful, the muscles evident as she pulled herself upside-down, legs twisting and extending.
He swallowed once and turned to find his partners scouring the place just as he had been doing. It was amazing how quickly they'd all reverted back to the rhythms of war; survey, assess, analyze.
At first glance Wufei felt as though they stuck out like a sore thumb, but at least they were still dressed somewhat appropriately for their lush, if not more unsavory, surroundings. They only had to blend in until they'd retrieved their recon, which evidently had become something of a mystery to all of them. Menta had seemed somehow knowing in the way she spoke so directly to him outside of Vingt et Un. Knowing in regards to what, however, Wufei was unsure.
Trowa approached the bar then and rested an arm lazily against the counter, leaning in to mutter something to the bartender, a flush running from her cheeks all the way down the plunging neckline of her shirt. Wufei wondered absently what exactly had been exchanged. But then they watched as the bartender indicated 'one moment' with her pointer finger and left through a curtained exit presumably towards some sort of back room to request the presence of their newest acquaintance.
The other three stood, not quite in the doorway, but far enough away from the darkly lit space as to not become incidental voyeurs of the show taking place before them. No one seemed to pay them any mind and they were determined to keep it that way. In-and-out, no complications.
It did not take long for the redheaded woman they'd ventured to find to make an appearance. For a short and uncertain moment Wufei dreaded the idea that she might come out dressed in nothing more than the woman who was currently aiming her attentions towards a man whose eyes had become glued to her long, toned legs. But he was proved quickly wrong, in fact she was dressed in a matching uniform to the woman Trowa had previously spoken to. A bartender, not a- stripper. How he loathed that term as it entered his mind even as it exited just as quickly.
Heero had taken up a casual stance, arms over chest, and Quatre had busied himself with some train of thought that left his lower lip clenched under teeth when Wufei noticed Menta's movements stopping short of Trowa, her eyes flicking to their patiently waiting forms, before she had brought up a single finger, giving him a 'come hither' gesture by curling it inwards. She was frowning deeply. He thought he saw her eyes roll in annoyance.
Wufei realized that his mouth had dropped open for a split second at the way she was, and had previously been, acting towards them, as if somehow she knew them on some personal level that would allow for such brazen behavior.
And so, at some compulsion unbeknownst to him, Wufei found the back of his hand coming to connect with Heero's shoulder, grabbing the other men's attention, before making his way towards the bar and Trowa, who had grown surprisingly stiff since Menta's odd appearance.
Quatre was the first to speak. "Ms. Rolland-"
She held up a hand. "Enough with the niceties. I know who you guys are."
Quatre managed to share a look with Wufei who simply shrugged because he certainly had no recollection of ever knowing this woman in his life. But of course, they were ex-pilots, they hadn't been able to hide from the public eye entirely.
"I- remember you guys- from the war," Menta explained as she took in their thinly hidden confusion. "Not specifically, but enough from what the telecasts embellished and what my father told me. He was an engineer briefly at the time of- Gundams." The word seemed to stick on her tongue for a short moment of either hesitation or fear. It was not necessarily a word many people uttered out loud these days.
Wufei thought perhaps someone should respond to that. But no one did, and neither did he for that matter. Menta didn't seem to mind, apparently her profession hadn't warranted a response.
She leaned back against the bar, somewhat matching Trowa's forced stance. "One of you is missing."
At that Heero actually opened his mouth, but no words followed suit as he studied the woman. They were here for answers and this was only scribbling onto their long list of questions. Wufei watched as Heero clenched his teeth and understood the movement, the emotion behind it. Everything had grown to an immense height of frustration and now this woman 'knew who they were' and had some engineer father that undoubtably told over-fabricated stories of death machines from a wartime they all couldn't seem to shake from their resumes.
Wufei watched her, he could see the realization reflected in her eyes accompanied by something he could only equate as disappointment. It wasn't astonishing to think that somehow the reclusive Duo Maxwell had grown to become one of the most well known Gundam pilots to the general masses. They'd all run across people who'd recognize them from the time to time, some more than others, Quatre especially, but that was to be expected. Yet it seemed painfully ironic that Duo was the one to have had his face plastered about the colonies and Earth and all due to a simple miscalculation- perhaps something any of the pilots could have found themselves facing.
Wufei had once questioned why he'd never cut off the braid, his most distinguishing attribute, but the black silence and deadly scowl he'd received in return was enough to tell him that no amount of notoriety was going to bring about that desire in the longhaired man's mind. The discussion had been dropped without pretense.
Suddenly the wall that had been Heero Yuy for the last several hours seemed to crumble. He glowered. "What do you know?" The words were spat out and his hands had since formed fists, arms still crossed across his chest.
Quatre's hand found a soothing place on the man's shoulder. The worry in his eyes showed that he too was just as concerned by the amount of acid in their friend's voice as Wufei was.
Trowa cleared his throat in some sort of crude apology. "Earlier you said you could assist us."
Menta's eyes were still glued to Heero, though she did not seem afraid or offended by his icy demand. Her jaw worked for a moment before she chose to speak. "My father is missing as well." Her eyes then switched to Wufei as if the eye contact with Heero had grown too exhausting. "For a time during the war he went by the name of Meister R."
Duo groaned inwardly, clenching his eyes shut, thankful for at least that amount of movement, and commanded his muscles with all his pent-up brain power to just fucking move. There came a twitch of muscle and suddenly not only were his fingers constricting, but his toes as well, still hopelessly unfettered from any form of cover. Duo could feel his shoulders tensing, playing out an internal mantra and just praying that no amount of drugs or residual spasms would impede on his curiosity towards the new and weirdly familiar sounds still circulating into the room around him.
A twanging pain rushed through his neck, but then his arms were moving at their own accord, pushing upwards, leveling his body up onto elbows. He swiveled his head left then right- and stopped dead.
His eyes, now entirely uncaring of his other meager surroundings, became glued to a thick pane of glass, a window of sorts, that inhabited the upper half of the wall adjacent to the one his bed headed up. But it was not so much the transparent expanse that had grappled his attention, but the scene taking place just beyond, in a room much like his own.
There were three chairs, three bodies, three sets of electrodes attached to three different temples, three heart monitors, three unseeing pairs of eyes staring blankly forward straight through Duo's pounding ribcage.
They were undoubtably the eyes of Quatre Winner, Wufei Chang, and Heero Yuy.