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misanagiLive to Tell
Rating: R
Pairings: 3x4
Warnings: Violence, OC death, language, angst.
Summary: A visit to the bank takes a turn for the worst.
Notes: Written for the 444 on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sdqb, prompt #11: adjacent.
Dedication: For Anne, because I promised her some Quatre whumping if she turned Private Universe into a bigger fic. *waits for the fic to be written*
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.
_____
It was quite convenient, Quatre had said many times, that the Grand L4 Bank had a branch located in the building adjacent to WEI. There were only three buildings in the block, WEI being the largest. Due to his work, Quatre had to meet with the bank manager several times a week, especially since he had involved himself in raising funds for the war orphans' foundations. Since Quatre preferred to conduct his important transactions personally, rather than by vidphone, he walked the half a block to the bank's building quite often, using the small trips as a chance to go outside the office, if only for a moment. Everyone in the bank knew Quatre by name and Quatre knew the names of all the employees.
When Quatre and Trowa had walked that afternoon into the bank – just a small stop after lunch – Quatre had greeted the guard at the door by name: Earl.
Earl had died fifteen minutes later.
The five people wearing ski masks and holding shotguns didn't shout "freeze" until after Earl was bleeding on the floor. It was a powerful statement, and it told Trowa that these men were prepared to do whatever it took to rob the bank.
A woman in her forties, a customer, screamed loudly and was shot in the head. One of the men walked closer to the cashiers and ordered them to stand up, walk to one of the far walls and stand there, facing the wall with their hands above their heads.
Trowa and the other customers stood still. The dead woman on the floor showed that these men had no tolerance at all. It was frustrating to just stand there, but Trowa wasn't stupid. He knew his odds and, unarmed and outnumbered as he was, he didn't stand a chance.
One of the men was walking up the stairs to the administrative offices where Quatre was. Whenever Trowa accompanied Quatre to the bank he let Quatre go meet the manager alone, and used the time to pay any bills or take care of any business he had pending. They usually met downstairs.
There was a shot on the second floor. Then two more. Trowa stopped breathing, his eyes fixed on the stairs.
"Hands over your head. Sit down where you are!"
Trowa didn't move. He couldn't, not until he knew Quatre was alright. From the corner of his eye he saw a shotgun pointed at him and he knew it wasn't an idle threat. He was going to be killed.
The shot was loud, but not loud enough. Trowa recognized the sound of a handgun before he realized that the shot hadn't been aimed at him, and hadn't come from the man that was just about to kill him.
Two more shots.
Instinct made Trowa sit down and put his hands above his head. The man that had tried to kill him lay dead on the floor. Another guard, the one who had saved Trowa and who Trowa didn't know by name, was dead too, the handgun still in his hand.
Three men left downstairs, one upstairs.
Trowa didn't have time to ponder grabbing the handgun from the guard or using it. Before anything else could happen, Trowa noticed a group of five people that were being led downstairs at gun point. Quatre was with them.
Halfway down the stairs, the robber motioning them down kicked an older man in the back, making him stumble. Quatre's reflexes were quick. He managed to turn around and steady the man before loosing his footing and falling on his knees.
The robber pointed his gun at Quatre but a voice stopped him before he could pull the trigger. "Don't. That's Master Winner," one of the masked men downstairs said. "He can be useful alive." There was no doubt in Trowa's mind that that man was the leader.
Quatre stood up and the man promptly pressed the barrel of his shotgun to Quatre's head. Trowa gritted his teeth. While Quatre was pushed down the stairs, their eyes met. Quatre offered a shaky smile and Trowa acknowledged it with a nod.
Three of the people that had come down the stairs, two secretaries and a clerk, were pushed to the wall with the other bank employees. Quatre and the older man, whom Trowa recognized as the manager, were forced to kneel in front of the stairs, hands above their heads.
Quatre was looking straight ahead. He was being more carefully watched and a single glace could compromise Trowa. They both knew that wouldn't bode well for either of them.
"This should be a fairly easy transaction," the leader said, walking closer to Quatre and the manager. "Mr. Cardigan, you will surrender the codes for the computer to my partner and approve any transaction we decide to make."
Robbing the credits stored in the vaults was no longer very profitable. Nowadays, criminals were more interested in getting a hold of the banks unhackable computers, forcing the manager to give them the codes that were changed everyday and using the manager's fingerprint or retinal code to approve transactions that were worth more credits than could be stored in any vault.
Mr. Cardigan shook his head slowly. "I won't."
One of the cashiers got shot in the back of the neck.
"There are thirty seven hostages," the leader explained slowly, calmly, as if he hadn't just taken a young man's life. "Thirty five of them are dispensable. The sooner you cooperate, the more lives you save, Mr. Cardigan."
The manager was shaking. Trowa could tell that he was about to refuse again. Apparently the leader could too because he lifted his weapon and aimed it at an elderly lady sitting next to Trowa.
"Don't." Quatre's voice sounded louder than a shot would.
"Are you objecting, Master Winner?" There was amusement in the leader's voice.
"You don't need to kill more people," Quatre said, calmly. "If it's money that you want, I can give it to you."
Trowa managed to stop himself from cursing. As if Quatre wasn't in enough danger already, he had just attracted the leader's attention. Trowa could understand that Quatre was hoping to distract the man, buying time, and trying to save some lives. Still, he was putting himself at risk, and as much as Trowa admired Quatre's courage, he didn't have to like it.
The leader walked closer to Quatre and kicked him harshly in the stomach. Quatre grunted and doubled over, hugging his abdomen. The leader pressed the barrel of his shotgun to Quatre's neck, just below the chin. "Arms over your head, Master Winner."
Trowa bit through his lip, tasting blood. That man would pay for hurting Quatre.
Raising his hands, Quatre glared at the leader. He didn't lean back to relieve the pressure of the shotgun at his throat. He stood his ground, looking directly into the leader's eyes. Quatre was too stubborn sometimes, and right now, that would only get him hurt.
The leader moved the gun away, to slap Quatre across the face. Quatre swayed but managed to keep his balance, his hands still up. "Of course you will give me what I want, Master Winner, not because you want to but because I'll make you." He pressed the gun again to Quatre's chin. "You have to learn, Master Winner, that things don't always go your way."
Trowa couldn't help but feel relieved when the leader moved away from Quatre and turned his attention back to Mr. Cardigan. His relief, however, didn't last long.
"Is this really about the money," Quatre asked. "If it was, you would have accepted my offer." He had the leader's attention again.
"You are arrogant, Master Winner."
"Just observant," Quatre said. "What you really want is power, right? You won't take my money if I offer it, you would rather snatch it."
If Quatre knew how Trowa felt right this moment, watching powerless as Quatre gambled with his life, Trowa was sure that Quatre would never pull a stunt like this again. But Quatre didn't know, and he had the nasty habit of putting other's wellbeing before his so all Trowa could do was wait and hope that Quatre was too important in the leader's eyes to be shot.
The leader used the butt of his gun to hit Quatre on the side of the head. This time Quatre did lose his balance. A groan left his lips as he hit the ground. Quatre's eyes met Trowa's for a brief moment, letting Trowa know that he was alright. Trowa appreciated the gesture, but the knot in his stomach didn't ease at all.
Slowly, Quatre pushed himself back into a kneeling position. His eyes were again fixed on the leader. He was defying his captor, taunting him, making himself the only target for the man's anger, making sure that there would be no victims other than himself.
The leader sneered. He turned to one of his men and gestured casually at Quatre. "John, tear out one of his eyes. Let's see how observant he's then."
Quatre paled. Trowa tensed; he would die before he let that be done to Quatre. John walked towards Quatre and pulled out a six inch knife.
Trowa stood up. At the same time a shot blew John's hand, the knife falling on the floor. Trowa heard a scream but he was already moving. The unnamed dead guard wasn't too far away, and the handgun was still in the dead man's fingers. From the corner of his eye, Trowa saw Heero, shooting from behind the banister on the second floor, probably covering him.
Taking the handgun, Trowa aimed at the leader, just in time to see him scream as the six inch knife pierced his eye.
The shooting suddenly stopped.
"One down," Heero's voice called loudly from upstairs.
"One down," Wufei's voice said. Trowa turned around to see him standing over a fallen robber.
"Got one too." Looking up, Trowa saw Duo waving at him from a support beam just below the roof.
"One down. Clear." Quatre's voice was strained. He was standing by the stairs, his eyes fixed on the leader moaning on the floor.
Moments later a group of Preventers, led by Sally Po, entered the bank. Trowa ignored them and walked straight towards Quatre, pulling him into a harsh kiss. He was rarely this demonstrative in public, but right now he needed to hold Quatre. "You are stupid!" he said when the kiss broke. He was holding Quatre's shoulders tightly, maybe tight enough to leave bruises. "How could you!? He could have killed you, Cat! How could you!"
Quatre didn't try to push Trowa's hands away, didn't try to pull away when Trowa shook him and demanded answers. "He was aiming at you." Quatre's voice held the same desperation Trowa's did. "I had to stop him."
Trowa felt his anger leave him in a rush. It was replaced by something else, a mix of love as intense as he'd ever felt, and anguish. "You thought…" Trowa shook his head. He knew the leader hadn't been aiming at him but from Quatre's position it would have looked like he was. Quatre had acted because he had felt the same desperation Trowa had; the cold fear of losing the person who meant the most. Trowa pulled Quatre closer, embracing him, burying his head on Quatre's shoulder. "You scared me," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I was scared too." Quatre put his arms around Trowa's waist. "But I couldn't let them, I just couldn't."
Closing his eyes, Trowa forced himself to accept what Quatre was saying. He wanted to argue, but he had to admit that he had acted just like Quatre had, putting himself at risk, too worried about Quatre to think clearly.
"Guys, are you okay?"
Reluctantly, Trowa moved away from Quatre and nodded at Duo. "We're fine."
Suddenly Duo was hugging them both at once. "Don't fucking do this to me again, you hear?"
"Duo, be careful with Quatre. He's likely sore," Wufei said as he approached them, Heero right beside him.
Quickly, Duo moved away and mumbled an apology.
"I'm fine," Quatre said, smiling slightly.
"You might have a concussion," Heero said.
"Your timing was perfect." Quatre bowed his head slightly at Heero. "Thank you."
Heero put a hand on Quatre's shoulder. "Not necessary."
"No one messes with our friends," Duo said. "By the way, great aim, Q. That would teach big shot not to threaten to tear anyone's eyes out." Maybe the fact that the leader had already lost an eye was the only thing stopping Duo from tearing out the other one. "It was good that you called, Q, or we wouldn't have been here in time."
Trowa frowned. "What?"
Quatre gave him a shaky smile. "As soon as I heard the first shot I walked out of Mr. Cardigan's office to see what was happening." He diverted his eyes before focusing them on Trowa again. "I called Heero and briefed him on the situation before they sent a man upstairs."
"I heard shots," Trowa whispered, trying not to think of what could have happened if that man had caught Quatre talking on his cellphone.
"The guards," Quatre said sadly. "He just shot them."
Trowa put an arm around Quatre's shoulders. "Let's go home." He looked at Duo, Heero and Wufei, silently telling them that the statement was meant for them too.
On days like this, the five of them stayed together. On days like this, they didn't only need love but also friendship. They needed the team together, even if it was just to grab a beer, even if it was just to know they were there for each other, always.
- The End -
Rating: R
Pairings: 3x4
Warnings: Violence, OC death, language, angst.
Summary: A visit to the bank takes a turn for the worst.
Notes: Written for the 444 on
sdqb, prompt #11: adjacent. Dedication: For Anne, because I promised her some Quatre whumping if she turned Private Universe into a bigger fic. *waits for the fic to be written*
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.
_____
It was quite convenient, Quatre had said many times, that the Grand L4 Bank had a branch located in the building adjacent to WEI. There were only three buildings in the block, WEI being the largest. Due to his work, Quatre had to meet with the bank manager several times a week, especially since he had involved himself in raising funds for the war orphans' foundations. Since Quatre preferred to conduct his important transactions personally, rather than by vidphone, he walked the half a block to the bank's building quite often, using the small trips as a chance to go outside the office, if only for a moment. Everyone in the bank knew Quatre by name and Quatre knew the names of all the employees.
When Quatre and Trowa had walked that afternoon into the bank – just a small stop after lunch – Quatre had greeted the guard at the door by name: Earl.
Earl had died fifteen minutes later.
The five people wearing ski masks and holding shotguns didn't shout "freeze" until after Earl was bleeding on the floor. It was a powerful statement, and it told Trowa that these men were prepared to do whatever it took to rob the bank.
A woman in her forties, a customer, screamed loudly and was shot in the head. One of the men walked closer to the cashiers and ordered them to stand up, walk to one of the far walls and stand there, facing the wall with their hands above their heads.
Trowa and the other customers stood still. The dead woman on the floor showed that these men had no tolerance at all. It was frustrating to just stand there, but Trowa wasn't stupid. He knew his odds and, unarmed and outnumbered as he was, he didn't stand a chance.
One of the men was walking up the stairs to the administrative offices where Quatre was. Whenever Trowa accompanied Quatre to the bank he let Quatre go meet the manager alone, and used the time to pay any bills or take care of any business he had pending. They usually met downstairs.
There was a shot on the second floor. Then two more. Trowa stopped breathing, his eyes fixed on the stairs.
"Hands over your head. Sit down where you are!"
Trowa didn't move. He couldn't, not until he knew Quatre was alright. From the corner of his eye he saw a shotgun pointed at him and he knew it wasn't an idle threat. He was going to be killed.
The shot was loud, but not loud enough. Trowa recognized the sound of a handgun before he realized that the shot hadn't been aimed at him, and hadn't come from the man that was just about to kill him.
Two more shots.
Instinct made Trowa sit down and put his hands above his head. The man that had tried to kill him lay dead on the floor. Another guard, the one who had saved Trowa and who Trowa didn't know by name, was dead too, the handgun still in his hand.
Three men left downstairs, one upstairs.
Trowa didn't have time to ponder grabbing the handgun from the guard or using it. Before anything else could happen, Trowa noticed a group of five people that were being led downstairs at gun point. Quatre was with them.
Halfway down the stairs, the robber motioning them down kicked an older man in the back, making him stumble. Quatre's reflexes were quick. He managed to turn around and steady the man before loosing his footing and falling on his knees.
The robber pointed his gun at Quatre but a voice stopped him before he could pull the trigger. "Don't. That's Master Winner," one of the masked men downstairs said. "He can be useful alive." There was no doubt in Trowa's mind that that man was the leader.
Quatre stood up and the man promptly pressed the barrel of his shotgun to Quatre's head. Trowa gritted his teeth. While Quatre was pushed down the stairs, their eyes met. Quatre offered a shaky smile and Trowa acknowledged it with a nod.
Three of the people that had come down the stairs, two secretaries and a clerk, were pushed to the wall with the other bank employees. Quatre and the older man, whom Trowa recognized as the manager, were forced to kneel in front of the stairs, hands above their heads.
Quatre was looking straight ahead. He was being more carefully watched and a single glace could compromise Trowa. They both knew that wouldn't bode well for either of them.
"This should be a fairly easy transaction," the leader said, walking closer to Quatre and the manager. "Mr. Cardigan, you will surrender the codes for the computer to my partner and approve any transaction we decide to make."
Robbing the credits stored in the vaults was no longer very profitable. Nowadays, criminals were more interested in getting a hold of the banks unhackable computers, forcing the manager to give them the codes that were changed everyday and using the manager's fingerprint or retinal code to approve transactions that were worth more credits than could be stored in any vault.
Mr. Cardigan shook his head slowly. "I won't."
One of the cashiers got shot in the back of the neck.
"There are thirty seven hostages," the leader explained slowly, calmly, as if he hadn't just taken a young man's life. "Thirty five of them are dispensable. The sooner you cooperate, the more lives you save, Mr. Cardigan."
The manager was shaking. Trowa could tell that he was about to refuse again. Apparently the leader could too because he lifted his weapon and aimed it at an elderly lady sitting next to Trowa.
"Don't." Quatre's voice sounded louder than a shot would.
"Are you objecting, Master Winner?" There was amusement in the leader's voice.
"You don't need to kill more people," Quatre said, calmly. "If it's money that you want, I can give it to you."
Trowa managed to stop himself from cursing. As if Quatre wasn't in enough danger already, he had just attracted the leader's attention. Trowa could understand that Quatre was hoping to distract the man, buying time, and trying to save some lives. Still, he was putting himself at risk, and as much as Trowa admired Quatre's courage, he didn't have to like it.
The leader walked closer to Quatre and kicked him harshly in the stomach. Quatre grunted and doubled over, hugging his abdomen. The leader pressed the barrel of his shotgun to Quatre's neck, just below the chin. "Arms over your head, Master Winner."
Trowa bit through his lip, tasting blood. That man would pay for hurting Quatre.
Raising his hands, Quatre glared at the leader. He didn't lean back to relieve the pressure of the shotgun at his throat. He stood his ground, looking directly into the leader's eyes. Quatre was too stubborn sometimes, and right now, that would only get him hurt.
The leader moved the gun away, to slap Quatre across the face. Quatre swayed but managed to keep his balance, his hands still up. "Of course you will give me what I want, Master Winner, not because you want to but because I'll make you." He pressed the gun again to Quatre's chin. "You have to learn, Master Winner, that things don't always go your way."
Trowa couldn't help but feel relieved when the leader moved away from Quatre and turned his attention back to Mr. Cardigan. His relief, however, didn't last long.
"Is this really about the money," Quatre asked. "If it was, you would have accepted my offer." He had the leader's attention again.
"You are arrogant, Master Winner."
"Just observant," Quatre said. "What you really want is power, right? You won't take my money if I offer it, you would rather snatch it."
If Quatre knew how Trowa felt right this moment, watching powerless as Quatre gambled with his life, Trowa was sure that Quatre would never pull a stunt like this again. But Quatre didn't know, and he had the nasty habit of putting other's wellbeing before his so all Trowa could do was wait and hope that Quatre was too important in the leader's eyes to be shot.
The leader used the butt of his gun to hit Quatre on the side of the head. This time Quatre did lose his balance. A groan left his lips as he hit the ground. Quatre's eyes met Trowa's for a brief moment, letting Trowa know that he was alright. Trowa appreciated the gesture, but the knot in his stomach didn't ease at all.
Slowly, Quatre pushed himself back into a kneeling position. His eyes were again fixed on the leader. He was defying his captor, taunting him, making himself the only target for the man's anger, making sure that there would be no victims other than himself.
The leader sneered. He turned to one of his men and gestured casually at Quatre. "John, tear out one of his eyes. Let's see how observant he's then."
Quatre paled. Trowa tensed; he would die before he let that be done to Quatre. John walked towards Quatre and pulled out a six inch knife.
Trowa stood up. At the same time a shot blew John's hand, the knife falling on the floor. Trowa heard a scream but he was already moving. The unnamed dead guard wasn't too far away, and the handgun was still in the dead man's fingers. From the corner of his eye, Trowa saw Heero, shooting from behind the banister on the second floor, probably covering him.
Taking the handgun, Trowa aimed at the leader, just in time to see him scream as the six inch knife pierced his eye.
The shooting suddenly stopped.
"One down," Heero's voice called loudly from upstairs.
"One down," Wufei's voice said. Trowa turned around to see him standing over a fallen robber.
"Got one too." Looking up, Trowa saw Duo waving at him from a support beam just below the roof.
"One down. Clear." Quatre's voice was strained. He was standing by the stairs, his eyes fixed on the leader moaning on the floor.
Moments later a group of Preventers, led by Sally Po, entered the bank. Trowa ignored them and walked straight towards Quatre, pulling him into a harsh kiss. He was rarely this demonstrative in public, but right now he needed to hold Quatre. "You are stupid!" he said when the kiss broke. He was holding Quatre's shoulders tightly, maybe tight enough to leave bruises. "How could you!? He could have killed you, Cat! How could you!"
Quatre didn't try to push Trowa's hands away, didn't try to pull away when Trowa shook him and demanded answers. "He was aiming at you." Quatre's voice held the same desperation Trowa's did. "I had to stop him."
Trowa felt his anger leave him in a rush. It was replaced by something else, a mix of love as intense as he'd ever felt, and anguish. "You thought…" Trowa shook his head. He knew the leader hadn't been aiming at him but from Quatre's position it would have looked like he was. Quatre had acted because he had felt the same desperation Trowa had; the cold fear of losing the person who meant the most. Trowa pulled Quatre closer, embracing him, burying his head on Quatre's shoulder. "You scared me," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I was scared too." Quatre put his arms around Trowa's waist. "But I couldn't let them, I just couldn't."
Closing his eyes, Trowa forced himself to accept what Quatre was saying. He wanted to argue, but he had to admit that he had acted just like Quatre had, putting himself at risk, too worried about Quatre to think clearly.
"Guys, are you okay?"
Reluctantly, Trowa moved away from Quatre and nodded at Duo. "We're fine."
Suddenly Duo was hugging them both at once. "Don't fucking do this to me again, you hear?"
"Duo, be careful with Quatre. He's likely sore," Wufei said as he approached them, Heero right beside him.
Quickly, Duo moved away and mumbled an apology.
"I'm fine," Quatre said, smiling slightly.
"You might have a concussion," Heero said.
"Your timing was perfect." Quatre bowed his head slightly at Heero. "Thank you."
Heero put a hand on Quatre's shoulder. "Not necessary."
"No one messes with our friends," Duo said. "By the way, great aim, Q. That would teach big shot not to threaten to tear anyone's eyes out." Maybe the fact that the leader had already lost an eye was the only thing stopping Duo from tearing out the other one. "It was good that you called, Q, or we wouldn't have been here in time."
Trowa frowned. "What?"
Quatre gave him a shaky smile. "As soon as I heard the first shot I walked out of Mr. Cardigan's office to see what was happening." He diverted his eyes before focusing them on Trowa again. "I called Heero and briefed him on the situation before they sent a man upstairs."
"I heard shots," Trowa whispered, trying not to think of what could have happened if that man had caught Quatre talking on his cellphone.
"The guards," Quatre said sadly. "He just shot them."
Trowa put an arm around Quatre's shoulders. "Let's go home." He looked at Duo, Heero and Wufei, silently telling them that the statement was meant for them too.
On days like this, the five of them stayed together. On days like this, they didn't only need love but also friendship. They needed the team together, even if it was just to grab a beer, even if it was just to know they were there for each other, always.
- The End -
