MoR fic part 1
Jul. 3rd, 2006 03:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiThis is supposed to be a one shot but LJ is evil and it wouldn't fit, so I split it. Sorry for spamming your friend lists.
An evening in Buenos Aires
Rating: R
Pairings: 3x4, 1x2
Warnings: Violence, language, some angst. Post-canon.
Summary: Quatre has spent two months on an undercover mission in Buenos Aires, until one evening the mission takes an unexpected turn.
Notes: Written for the 2006 Moments of Rapture "Mission: Get Together" contest.
Big thanks to Anne for the beta.
______
The bartender put the drink on the table: scotch on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Quatre didn't wrap his fingers around it immediately but let it sit for a while. He was in no hurry to get back to the table. A glance at his watch told him that it was well past midnight but the party was showing no signs of being over soon. They had opened the buffet only an hour before. By now, the people had eaten and were enjoying the alcohol and the music.
The glass was moist, the ice already melting. Quatre took a small sip, swallowing the liquid slowly and enjoying the slight burning sensation flowing down his throat. It was time to get back to the table. They probably weren't discussing business; they never did in such open places, but they had been drinking and some important information could slip without them noticing.
Taking one last sip, Quatre moved away from the bar and walked back into the ballroom. The music was louder here but not loud enough so that people couldn't hold a conversation. Quatre moved gracefully through the tables until he reached one by the dance floor. There were five men there, drinking and smoking, all with a girl, at least half their age, by their side. Quatre forced a grin and took his place, next to a girl his age named Carolina; his date for the evening.
She was pretty. Black eyes, dyed blonde hair, slim figure and tall, taller than him. They had been introduced at a party last week. She was one of the suitable girls. Not too rich, daughter of a known family that would love nothing more than to have her marry Quatre Winner. Quatre wouldn't see her again after tonight.
The other men were drunk, or quickly getting there. They spoke louder than usual, joking about past lovers, laughing and teasing. The girls laughed too; higher pitch fake giggles that delighted the men. Carolina did also, and Quatre knew immediately that if he had to pick the trait that annoyed him the most about his date, it would be that laugh.
Quatre smiled, pretending to be amused, and quietly sipped his drink. He had always acted as a proper and reserved young man, too serious to give more than a smile. It was a good façade, one that he could control, especially since he wasn't sure if he would be able to pretend like the women. He wasn't an actor, he hadn't been picked for the job because infiltration was his specialty. He was chosen because he was the only one with real credentials and a suitable bank account; the one no one would suspect.
It was a shitty deal from the start. Playing the businessman, the very thing Quatre had been running from when he'd joined Preventers, but who could play it better than him? It was true that WEI had lost a lot of profits with the end of the war. The mining industry was very lucrative in itself, but the decreased demand for weapons material had resulted in millions lost. It hadn't even made a dent on WEI finances; after all, it was the largest corporation on Earth and the Colonies and would still be, even if half of their industries went broke. However, to a greedy person, the lost of millions mattered more than the lost of lives, and Quatre had pretended to be that person for two months now, and it was starting to get to him.
He hadn't been able to really sleep during the last few weeks. Spending his days planning how to bring another war about so the price of weapons and weapons materials could go up again kept bringing him back memories that hunted him through the night. The only time the nightmares had been so bad was right after the war. During the conflicts Quatre hadn't allowed himself to think too much, and even though he had nightmares, he managed to get enough sleep to fight at top level, but after the battles were over, the nightmares settled in. After a month of dealing with heavy insomnia, Sally had prescribed him sleeping pills but the solution turned out to be worst, making Quatre incredible edgy during the day. In the end, Quatre had stopped taking the pills. After he joined Preventers the nightmares started to ease, allowing him to get some rest once in a while, and during the years they had gotten less frequent, to the point that he had no more than three a month.
The fact that he had spent the last two months completely cut off from his friends didn't help either. Over the years, Quatre had learnt to rely on all of them, not only as comrades but as family. Une had said it wouldn't be more than three weeks, only three weeks. Quatre would still have gone if he had known it would take longer but maybe he wouldn't have left in such haste, maybe he would have tried to settle things before going away, but then again, maybe it was too late for maybes now.
The upbeat music suddenly stopped and the band that had been resting took their place on the small stage. The first notes were played by the piano which was joined soon enough by a violin, giving almost a melancholic sound to the tune. The beat was fast but the tune somehow kept the slow elegant sound. The soft tenor voice of the singer spoke foreign words, but Quatre didn't need to understand the language to understand the feeling. Passion, love, lost and longing, all wrapped up in a song. Many of the people on the dance floor took their seats and others stood up, ready to dance. It wasn't hard to notice that most of the dancers were locals. It was their tune, after all.
"The tango is the most romantic of all dances," said Martín Saavedra, the owner and CEO of SV Corporations, and their gracious host in the city of Buenos Aires. He leaned closer to the woman by his side, whispered something in her ear, took her by the hand and guided her to the dance floor.
"He's a player," commented Joseph Simmons, a sixty year old man with a mustache and an almost bald head. He was Quatre's contact with the other businessmen, the one who had first offered him to be a part of their exclusive circle, and had brought him in. "All the bastards who dance do it only for one thing…"
"Pussy," said Hans Riz, in a derogatory tone. "As if they aren't giving it away." He pulled his date closer to him and put a hand firmly around her waist to illustrate his point. Quatre bit the inside of his mouth.
Trying to tune them out, Quatre glanced at the dance floor, happy to ignore the drunken men for a while to focus on the couples dancing. Martín had been right; there was a certain romantic quality to the dance. The way the man's hands settled on the woman's waist or the way she leaned closer with the slightest pull. It was intimate; a dance of possession and surrender.
Quatre had been so distracted, looking at the way a woman balanced herself on her thin and long heels while she twirled, that he hadn't noticed Trowa until he was only centimeters away. He was wearing a tailored pair of dark brown trousers with a white silk shirt. His golden tie was hanging lose around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. There was also a woman with him, and they were dancing.
Trowa was holding onto her slim waist and she had a hand firmly pressed on his shoulder. They were dancing closely together, almost touching chests, their faces only centimeters away. They moved perfectly with the beat of the music, pulling and pushing, growing apart just to come together even closer than they had been. And while Quatre watched, unable to tear his eyes away, Trowa didn't look at him, not once.
The song ended and Trowa walked away, holding the woman's hand. Quatre was left staring at the empty space on the dance floor. Another song started and the floor was filled with movement again, but there was no sign of Trowa. Blinking slowly, Quatre downed the rest of the drink and wonder if the pressure of the job was finally getting to him enough to be seeing things, people, that weren't there.
A waiter walked by and Quatre asked for another scotch. It was the third this evening but he didn't care. He could hold his liquor and right now he needed a distraction. He couldn't afford to think of Trowa. He needed to stay focused or his cover would be blown. However, the memories of that afternoon came rushing back to Quatre: Trowa's look after Quatre had tried to kiss him, the confusion in those eyes and then Quatre's apology had been met with silence. Quatre had left then. He had boarded a shuttle and headed for his mission. He had regretted his decision to leave things like that with Trowa ever since.
The realization that Trowa didn't feel the same way he did had hurt, but leaving Trowa like that and probably ending his friendship, had hurt even more. Hours later, Quatre had been meeting with Joseph, knowing that he wouldn't be able to talk with Trowa until the mission was over.
He had been dreaming of Trowa a lot. Quatre didn't want to admit that it was one of the reasons he wasn't sleeping or that most of the nightmares were about ZERO and killing Trowa. However, he had to admit that the guilt of ending a friendship and hurting the person he cared for the most was starting to eat him alive.
Someone touched Quatre's arm lightly and he turned around to see Vikram Mills standing beside him. "We are meeting in a private room. Follow us."
Quatre nodded and followed the other businessmen out of the ballroom, not even sparing his date a glance. She would still be there waiting for him to take her home after he was done.
The room was a suite in the hotel they were all staying. It was on the top floor, the last door on the corridor. Quatre didn't doubt that it was secure. These people were very well organized and took great care to keep their business secret.
In the middle of the room was a round table where all the men were assembling. Quatre was familiar with all of them; he had been dealing with them for weeks. Frederik Kress, a fifty year old man and the leader of the organization, owner and CEO of the Kress Conglomerate, was sitting on the table having a drink. He was the big man. It had taken Quatre weeks before he had been was allowed to meet with him. The Kress Conglomerate was the name for the many factories Mr. Kress owned; most of them specialized in metals, machinery and weapons building. The majority of the Romafeller contracts for titanium and other hard metals for the Mobil Dolls had been met by Kress' factories. After the fall of Romafeller and the end of the war, Kress' multibillion contract had fallen. He still held significant power with his other companies, but his main source of income had been neutralized.
The small group of businessmen was under Kress' control. He was the one who ran the operations and made the contacts, promising them that a new era of business opportunities for those in the weapons and the weapons dependant industries would soon come. Kress was very suspicious and didn't meet with anyone unless they had earned his trust. Quatre knew that the only reason why he was now in the inner circle was because Winner Enterprises held enough money and power to temp a man like Kress.
The seat next to Kress had been taken by his second in command, Hans Riz. He was thirty six and not nearly as high up the social circle as the rest of the men in the room. He had been an Oz officer during the war, but Preventers' intelligence showed that he had spent most of the war giving orders from inside an office. Quatre disliked the man intensely.
Joseph had entered only moments before Quatre and was taking his seat on Kress' other side. Vikram and Quatre moved forward, Quatre choosing the chair beside Joseph and Vikram the one next to Hans. There were two empty places. One was reserved for Martín, who was probably on his way up, but Quatre couldn't figure out for whom was the last. With Martín, the inner circle was complete.
Minutes later he got his answer. The door opened and Martín walked in, followed by Trowa.
Quatre bit the inside of his lip, hard, and forced himself to stay still. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes away from Trowa, not now when he knew he wasn't a hallucination brought on by stress and too much alcohol; he only hoped that his face didn't show the happiness, confusion and slight fear he was feeling right now. Trowa hadn't spared him more than a glance before he focused his eyes on Kress. The rational part of Quatre pointed out that that was the way an undercover operative should act, that looking at him for more than a second or showing any emotion or interest would be suspicious. Still, no amount of reason could stop Quatre from feeling hurt.
"I see you found Mr. Barton, Martín," said Kress. "Please, gentlemen, take a seat." After they did, Kress continued. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Trowa Barton… better known as Gundam pilot 03."
The silence that followed was heavy, and all eyes turned to Kress; all but Quatre's.
"With the help of some associates," continued Kress, "we managed to track him down, and after talking with him, he graciously accepted to help us in our little project."
Quatre forced his eyes away from Trowa, who was still ignoring him and looking straight ahead. He was angry, angry enough to put his fist through the table if he had the chance, but instead he forced himself to relax and keep his breathing even. Nine weeks ago, when Lady Une had asked him to her office to inform him of the mission, she had mentioned that they had dismissed the idea of using their identities as Gundam pilots to infiltrate the organization because it was too risky. The organization was likely to suspect a pilot, and sending any of them using that cover was the equivalent of handing them to the enemy. However, Lady Une had made it clear that she wouldn't hesitate to do just that if Quatre didn't accept the mission, and keep it confidential. Quatre would have done it anyway, but that small veiled threat had hung over his head since he had left for Argentina.
Trowa's presence here was not a good sign, for either of them.
Kress introduced everyone to Trowa before announcing, "He will be the test pilot for the Vega."
It took every ounce of control Quatre had not to give Trowa a questioning look. Vega was the real objective of Quatre's mission. He had infiltrated to find all he could about the organization and their plans, but especially, the development of a new aircraft, codename Vega. It had taken Quatre weeks to get the most basic information about it, and only after Kress met with him and approved his involvement in the project, had he been allowed to see the Vega blueprints and understood the danger of the plane.
It was a small stealth aircraft with fighter capabilities. Its speed could rival a Gundam's and it was practically undetectable. It was equipped with surveillance technology, defense systems and weapons, and it allowed for high maneuverability, providing the pilot was talented enough to handle it. They had recently completed the prototype, but after it was tested, it would be used to attack the current government and the Preventers' forces. The Vega was to be the first act of war, and Quatre's job was to steal it.
Last week he had visited the lab, located on the roof of the SV building – the organization's base of operations – and seen the prototype. He had been able to study the security on the building and, after studying the blueprints, he was confident that he could fly the aircraft. He had sent the information through his contact back to HQ a couple of days ago and now he was just waiting for the green light to make his move.
But now, with Trowa here, he wasn't sure of anything.
* * *
It was late when Trowa finally made it back to his suite. He closed the door behind him, took off his shoes and jacket and let himself fall on the bed. He remained there for a while, looking up at the ceiling of the five star hotel room and the small lamp bathing the room with a soft glow.
If it were up to him he would sleep, and hopefully allow himself some rest, but he knew this was going to be another sleepless night. He consciously avoided looking at the right corner of the room or the dresser, where he already knew the hidden security cameras were located. It was foolish to think that Kress wouldn't be suspicious enough to keep him under constant surveillance. He thought of the people watching him, what would they make of a Gundam pilot just laying on his bed, still dressed, and with no apparent intention of going to sleep.
He sat up slowly and started to unbutton his shirt. He took it off and let it fall on the ground before heading for the bathroom. There weren't any cameras there, thankfully.
Trowa finished undressing and turned on the shower, stepping under the spray immediately, even though the water was still cold. He just stood there, eyes cast down, waiting for the water to warm and, when it finally did, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. The expression on Quatre's face when he first saw him from the dance floor was engraved on Trowa's mind and it wouldn't go away.
When Trowa had taken the assignment, he had known that meeting Quatre again would be awkward and maybe painful, but he hadn't foreseen how much it would affect him. He had been looking for Quatre on the ballroom but that hadn't stopped him from missing a step and almost tripping his dance partner when he had seen him. It was Quatre's look as he slowly drank his scotch that had let Trowa see clearly how much this long assignment was affecting him.
He knew he should have kept his distance, at least for the moment, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. His eyes had been firmly focused on Quatre, following his every move, noticing the way he forced out a smile and then hid behind his glass. He hadn't even realized that he had been approaching Quatre until Quatre's eyes moved to the dance floor, and settled on him.
Instinct took over and Trowa forced his eyes back to the girl, whatever her name was, and guided her to the other end of the dance floor, away from Quatre and the sad eyes Trowa had managed to see before he'd looked away.
Moving back from the wall, Trowa took the small hotel soap, unwrapped it, and threw the paper in the tub, not caring where it landed. He soaped himself quickly and then stood under the spray again, this time adjusting the temperature to make the water cooler.
His hand stung and Trowa noticed that there was still soap there. He rinsed it off and then ran his fingers over the shallow cuts on his knuckles.
He hadn't meant to break Une's desk. It had been a reflex. He hadn't even noticed that he had punched it until he had to struggle to get his hand out of the hole he had made on the wooden surface. The door had opened to reveal many curious agents, looking inside but not brave enough to approach. Duo, Heero and Wufei must have been nearby because they made their way through the agents blocking the entrance, stepped inside without asking permission, and closed the door behind them. Trowa didn't remember exactly what Heero had said, but it had made Trowa blurt out angrily that Quatre hadn't gone home to deal with some WEI business, like they all believed, but was instead working solo in a deep cover operation and had been for the last two months.
None of them had known. Lady Une had said it was classified. She had let them all believe Quatre was too busy to answer their messages and calls, and Quatre had left without explaining. He had kissed Trowa and left. Two months of wondering if his fear had ruined his chances with Quatre, and their friendship. Two months! And he had to find out through Lady Une why Quatre never called him back, never gave him the chance to explain.
Trowa shut the water off and walked out of the shower. He put one of the hotel white towels around his waist and used another to dry his hair. It was cold and it was probably better to get into bed, but Trowa didn't want to leave the bathroom and the privacy it gave him just yet.
Une had warned him that it was a risky mission. They would probably suspect him from the moment he initiated contact, and the chances of capture or death were high. Trowa hadn't thought twice before accepting. She had messed up, and now Quatre was in grave danger. If the only way they could get Quatre out was for Trowa to take risks, he would do it.
The other pilots had volunteered to take his place. They knew that Quatre and Trowa hadn't left on good terms. They had seen Trowa grow sadder with each day when his calls weren't returned, and Heero had even had to go pick him up at a bar one Friday night when Trowa had decided to drink way too much, and had confessed his feelings for Quatre. Trowa had known that seeing Quatre would be difficult but the mission was something he needed to do himself.
He hadn't had the chance to talk to Quatre, but Trowa hoped that tomorrow he could pretend to talk to him about business and let him know that the mission had been compromised and that he needed to abort. For now, all he could do was go to bed, pretend to sleep and wait for the morning. It was going to be another long sleepless night.
* * *
It was a cold night. Wufei put his hands inside his coat pockets and walked faster. There were very few people roaming around the streets at this time of night, which was fine by him. The neighborhood wasn't a bad one, but it was obviously not part of the luxurious part of Buenos Aires. The buildings were old but well conserved and the streets were relatively clean. It was definitely better than the ratty apartment he, Duo and Heero had been sharing for the past day. They had stayed at worse places during the war, but the sight of the small and dirty one bedroom apartment had sent a shiver down Wufei's spine. Maybe he was getting old.
The building he was looking for turned out to be a three floor one, painted gray. Wufei moved to the door, took out his lockpicks, and unlocked it. He used the stairs to climb to the third floor and stopped in front a door marked 303. Wasting no time, he took out his gun and kicked the door open, pointing his weapon at the bald man in his underwear on the couch, watching TV.
Wufei walked into the room and closed the door behind him with one hand, keeping the one with the weapon firmly trained on the man. "Both hands where I can see them, Sandino." The man complied and Wufei walked further into the room. "I herby relieve you of your position as a Preventer agent and take you into custody for the charge of treason."
Taking the cuffs from his pocket with his free hand, Wufei moved towards the man and harshly pulled both of Sandino's arms behind him, cuffing them at the wrists.
"It's too late." Sandino's voice was hoarse and low, but Wufei could detect a hint of amusement. "Your friends are as good as dead."
Wufei pushed the man against a wall and pressed the barrel of his gun to Sandino's neck. "Explain," he said, not trying to hide his anger. He had been irritated since the moment he'd found out that the reason why Quatre was in danger was this man; the agent that Une had assigned to be his contact in Argentina with Preventers and who was suspected of working for the very organization they were trying to bring down. Antonio Sandino's bank accounts had proven that he had been receiving a lot of money from an Argentinean corporation, one that was owned by Martín Saavedra. Sandino was Quatre's only contact, and if he had turned, then Quatre's cover was blown. Every moment he stayed in Argentina, he was at risk. That was why, in a desperate attempt to reach him, Une had decided to send Trowa to get Quatre out.
Sandino let out a bitter laugh. "They know."
"They know what?" asked Wufei, pressing the gun harder into Sandino's neck.
"Barton." The man coughed. "They know he's a Preventer."
Wufei glared. Sandino shouldn't have that information. Very few people had the clearance to know about the pilots' involvement with Preventers. "How?"
The man sneered. "They don't discuss those things with me."
Wufei moved the gun away and let Sandino collapse on the floor. He took out his cellphone, but before he could dial he heard Sandino laugh.
"They told me about Barton because they needed me to do something, and you are too late to stop that, Preventer." The man smiled and finally declared, "I just sent Winner to his death."
The phone still in his hand, Wufei walked to Sandino and pressed his foot on the man's windpipe. "What did you do?" He applied a little more pressure as he glared at Sandino, daring him to keep silent.
"I gave him the green light."
"Fuck!" Wufei moved his foot away from Sandino to kick him in the head when he saw the triumphant smile on the man's face. Sandino grunted in pain and then fell on the floor unconscious. Wufei didn't spare him another glance as he dialed a number on his cellphone.
"Yuy, we have a problem."
* * *
Quatre could still taste the coffee in his mouth. It was incredible what two espressos did to him. He silently thanked the heavens that there was a coffee machine in his hotel suite or he wouldn't be awake enough to go through with the mission. It was his fault, anyway. He knew he shouldn't have drunk so much; just a glass so no one would suspect him, but after seeing Trowa, and then having to sit so close to him and pretend they didn't know each other, Quatre had kept the scotch bottle by his side, and made sure his glass was never empty.
Sandino's call, one hour after Quatre had made it to his room, was unwelcome but not unexpected. Quatre had been waiting for the green light, and he had known it could come at any moment. Tonight, however, Quatre was annoyed, depressed, still confused about Trowa, and a bit drunk. To say that it wasn't the best night for him to sneak into a high security building and steal a prototype plane would be an understatement.
He had managed to sneak inside the perimeter fence without a problem. He was dressed in black, wearing gloves and with a baseball cap over his head so his blond hair wouldn't reflect the moon's light and give away his position. Pressing himself against the back wall of the building, Quatre waited until he was sure that the outside guard had walked by and around the corner before taking a grappling gun from his pack. He took a couple of steps back from the wall and aimed. The line shot up and moments later there was a small clanking sound as the magnetic grappling hook attached itself to the building's wall, only a couple of centimeters below the roof. After putting the gun back in his pack, Quatre pulled the cable a couple of times, and when he was sure it was stable enough, he secured the clip to a metallic ring on his belt and grabbed the cable with both hands. "Here goes nothing," he whispered.
Balancing his feet on the wall and using the cable as leverage, Quatre started to climb up. He had only a few minutes to get up the ten floors and into the roof before another guard was scheduled to walk by his location. Halfway through, Quatre started to feel the strain of two months without training. Since the mission started, he had only managed to get a few hours in the hotel's gym a day, which helped him keep fit but was a long call from the training he did when he was back home. His shoulders and upper arms were sore, but Quatre forced himself to climb faster, too aware that time wasn't on his side. Finally reaching the roof, Quatre pushed himself over the ledge, clicked the button on the grappling hook that would release it from the wall, and then pulled the cable up.
After unclasping the cable from his belt, Quatre pushed it inside his backpack and then just sat on the floor for a moment, catching his breath. He waited for the guard on the ground to walk by before standing up. Most of the roof of the large building was a wide open space, but on about one fifth of it, on the north corner, the lab had been built. The doors were two large metallic gates that slid open after a key card was inserted in the lock and the right seven digit password given.
Retrieving the electronic device from his pocket, Quatre inserted the card in the slot and waited until the red numbers on the little screen came to a stop. He grinned and typed the password on the panel, and seconds later the large gates started to slide open. Quatre slipped inside as soon as the gap was wide enough, using the soft moonlight to navigate inside the lab. He had been here only a few days before and the scientist had showed him and the other businessmen all their gadgets and experiments proudly. While he listened, Quatre had taken note of the cameras inside and the alarms placed on the more valuable experiments.
He needed to move fast. He might not have triggered any alarms but the guards monitoring the vids would surely notice that the lab was suddenly brighter. Quatre walked quickly to the iron door at the end of the lab, being careful to stay out of camera view. If the guards were observant they would already know he was there, but if they weren't, Quatre saw no reason to alert them to his presence.
The second door had a similar locking mechanism. However, this required two keycards and two passwords to open. Quatre was prepared. Using another device exactly like the first, he repeated the operation and soon enough, the second set of double doors slid open, revealing the prototype plane behind them.
Quickly, Quatre pushed the different tables out of the way, making sure that the plane could taxi out of the lab. Moments later the lights went on, and the loud sound of the alarm was heard. Forcing himself to remain calm, Quatre ran towards the aircraft and slipped inside the cockpit.
According to the blueprints, the ignition system was activated by a password and a command typed on the panel. Quatre used the keycard again, hoping that it could hack this password as well. He waited for the numbers to stop flashing, knowing all too well that every second it took for the machine to work diminished his chances of getting out of this alive. Finally a password was displayed and Quatre quickly typed it and the command to start the ignition. He held his breath, one second, two, and then the roar of the engine was heard. Quatre breathed again.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, "let's take a ride."
He had never been inside the Vega but the feel of the controls under his fingers was familiar and comforting. Quatre smirked, feeling all the confidence he had felt the first time he had climbed inside a mobile suit. He could do this.
The aircraft started speeding, too slowly for Quatre's taste. The roof wasn't too wide and if the plane didn't gain enough speed soon then this would be a very short flight with a rather abrupt landing.
"I can do this," Quatre said, feeling the plane speed up just as it cleared the lab doors. The ledge seemed awfully close but Quatre kept pushing. This plane was getting off this roof, one way or another.
The guards had finally reached the roof but Quatre didn't spare them more than a glace. Right now, the only obstacle between him and a successful mission was that ledge, getting quickly closer and closer, and damn it if he wasn't going to conquer it.
It was now or never. Quatre pulled the nose of the plane up and held the controls with both hands, fighting to keep it steady. The airplane lifted and moments later it was climbing higher into the sky. Quatre let out a relieved sigh and leaned back on the chair, smiling. He quickly checked the fuel and pressure levels, noticing that everything was normal, and then typed the command to pull the wheels inside. After checking the coordinates, Quatre started to head to the rendezvous point, a small village with a clandestine airfield north of Buenos Aires.
Vega was almost as fast as it was said to be. Quatre smiled sadly; it wasn't quite as fast as a Gundam, but it was closer than anything he had piloted since he had destroyed Sandrock. For a few minutes, Quatre let himself enjoy the feeling of being in the air, the pull of the G forces, the way the controls felt so right in his hands. He had missed this, more than he cared to admit.
And then Quatre's heart stopped. There was a noise that shouldn't be there, a noise that signaled that something was very wrong with the engine, and then, there was total silence. Quatre's hands reacted before his mind processed what was happening, maneuvering the aircraft and trying to keep the nose as up as possible, even though it was a lost fight. The engine was dead. Quatre typed the start command but nothing happened, and then it dawned on him. He was going to crash.
He was losing altitude fast, and soon enough the city was visible below him, getting closer and closer.
Quatre gripped the controls tightly, trying to avoid the tall buildings and maneuvering the plane towards the river. Hopefully he would be able to prevent civilian casualties this way, but there were houses and small buildings on each side of the river so there was still a risk.
His fingers typed quickly the eject command and he let one hand hover over the enter key while the other gripped the controls tightly, trying to keep the direction of the aircraft.
'The river looks dark at night,' Quatre thought, and pressed the enter key. An explosion was the last thing he heard.
* * *
"He's not answering. He's not fucking answering!" Duo slammed down the phone and let out a frustrated sigh.
"Maybe he can't. He's aware that he's under surveillance," Heero said.
Duo ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like this. He hated not being able to do something. His friends were in danger and here he was, sitting in an old smelly apartment doing nothing. It wasn't his style. Deciding not to wait a minute longer, Duo stood up, opened his suitcase, took out his guns and started to put on the waist, shoulder and ankle hostlers.
Without a word, Heero followed suit and a few minutes later they were both armed and ready to go. Duo opened the closet and looked between his Preventers' jacket and a long black leather coat. Finally, he picked the coat and put it on.
"If backup comes they'll assume we are the enemy," said Heero, taking out a dark gray coat and putting it on.
"Wufei better cover our asses then." Duo placed his Preventers badge inside his pocket. "If we take those jackets we might as well put on a sign that says shoot me."
The night was cold and Duo instinctively moved closer to Heero, their shoulders almost touching. The streets were nearly empty but, as they had seen, Buenos Aires had a lively night life. Every now and then a group of drunken people passed by singing loudly, a couple rushed by them holding hands or a single man walked by slowly, his head down, the sign of a rough night.
"I miss that," Duo murmured, looking at a group of young drunk men who were laughing as they tried to get a friend, who had obviously drunk way too much, home.
Heero glanced at the men and then went back to watching the street ahead. "You got drunk last Friday."
Duo snorted and elbowed Heero on the ribs. "It's not that, and you know it." He smiled sadly. "I miss all of us going for a beer after work, or just hanging out. We saw Tro and Fei, but after Q left it just wasn't the same."
"Trowa wasn't really there." Heero put his hands inside his pockets. "He was too busy blaming himself."
Duo let out a low growl. "She saw him every day and didn't tell him."
"Quatre didn't tell him either," Heero said.
Duo was quiet. He wanted to blame Une, think that it was all her fault, and that Trowa and Quatre had both been victims. Then, they could set things straight and Quatre and Trowa would be together, happy again, and things would be like before, when the five of them would catch a movie and drink a beer, like normal people did.
But it wasn't that simple. Quatre had left without out telling any of them and Trowa was hurt. Duo liked to think he and Quatre were very close; he would like to defend Quatre and say it wasn't his fault, that he was ordered to keep silent about his mission, but Duo knew those were empty excuses. Quatre wouldn't let Une order him around if he didn't agree with her orders. Trowa had never told them what had happened between him and Quatre, but whatever it was, it had hurt Trowa deeply and it had driven Quatre away.
There might not be a chance to fix things but Duo would be damned if he let his friends hurt each other like that. He wasn't above locking the both of them in a room until they resolved whatever conflict they had, until they admitted they loved each other. Why couldn't they just kiss and move on? Everyone could see that they cared for each other, then why was it so hard for them to be honest with themselves?
A small voice told Duo that he had felt the same way, that he had also been scared. Luckily, Duo Maxwell wasn't the type of person who ran away from his fears. It hadn't been a year since they all had joined Wufei in Preventers when Duo, scared as hell but still determined to say what he had to, had entered Heero's office, closed the door behind him, walked up to Heero and without preamble told him that he loved him.
Heero had told Duo later that, ironically, it had been Quatre the one who had talked him through his fears and given him the courage to call Duo at four in the morning to say, "Me too." Quatre, who was so good at ignoring his own advice and had run away.
"There's the hotel," Heero said, pulling Duo out of his daze. The Hotel Internacional stood tall a block in front of them.
"Any ideas or just shoot first and ask later?" asked Duo.
"Let's try to slip by first. Trowa is supposed to be in room 2068. If he isn't there--"
"If he isn't there we grab the closest son of a bitch and demand answers!"
"This is Martín Saavedra's hotel," said Heero, stopping and looking at Duo. "They might be expecting us."
Duo grinned. "Good thing we are ready." He leaned towards Heero and kissed him quickly. "Let's get the idiots back."
Heero smiled and nodded, but before they could walk the last block towards the hotel there was a crash followed by an explosion by the river.
* * *
-->To part 2
An evening in Buenos Aires
Rating: R
Pairings: 3x4, 1x2
Warnings: Violence, language, some angst. Post-canon.
Summary: Quatre has spent two months on an undercover mission in Buenos Aires, until one evening the mission takes an unexpected turn.
Notes: Written for the 2006 Moments of Rapture "Mission: Get Together" contest.
Big thanks to Anne for the beta.
______
The bartender put the drink on the table: scotch on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Quatre didn't wrap his fingers around it immediately but let it sit for a while. He was in no hurry to get back to the table. A glance at his watch told him that it was well past midnight but the party was showing no signs of being over soon. They had opened the buffet only an hour before. By now, the people had eaten and were enjoying the alcohol and the music.
The glass was moist, the ice already melting. Quatre took a small sip, swallowing the liquid slowly and enjoying the slight burning sensation flowing down his throat. It was time to get back to the table. They probably weren't discussing business; they never did in such open places, but they had been drinking and some important information could slip without them noticing.
Taking one last sip, Quatre moved away from the bar and walked back into the ballroom. The music was louder here but not loud enough so that people couldn't hold a conversation. Quatre moved gracefully through the tables until he reached one by the dance floor. There were five men there, drinking and smoking, all with a girl, at least half their age, by their side. Quatre forced a grin and took his place, next to a girl his age named Carolina; his date for the evening.
She was pretty. Black eyes, dyed blonde hair, slim figure and tall, taller than him. They had been introduced at a party last week. She was one of the suitable girls. Not too rich, daughter of a known family that would love nothing more than to have her marry Quatre Winner. Quatre wouldn't see her again after tonight.
The other men were drunk, or quickly getting there. They spoke louder than usual, joking about past lovers, laughing and teasing. The girls laughed too; higher pitch fake giggles that delighted the men. Carolina did also, and Quatre knew immediately that if he had to pick the trait that annoyed him the most about his date, it would be that laugh.
Quatre smiled, pretending to be amused, and quietly sipped his drink. He had always acted as a proper and reserved young man, too serious to give more than a smile. It was a good façade, one that he could control, especially since he wasn't sure if he would be able to pretend like the women. He wasn't an actor, he hadn't been picked for the job because infiltration was his specialty. He was chosen because he was the only one with real credentials and a suitable bank account; the one no one would suspect.
It was a shitty deal from the start. Playing the businessman, the very thing Quatre had been running from when he'd joined Preventers, but who could play it better than him? It was true that WEI had lost a lot of profits with the end of the war. The mining industry was very lucrative in itself, but the decreased demand for weapons material had resulted in millions lost. It hadn't even made a dent on WEI finances; after all, it was the largest corporation on Earth and the Colonies and would still be, even if half of their industries went broke. However, to a greedy person, the lost of millions mattered more than the lost of lives, and Quatre had pretended to be that person for two months now, and it was starting to get to him.
He hadn't been able to really sleep during the last few weeks. Spending his days planning how to bring another war about so the price of weapons and weapons materials could go up again kept bringing him back memories that hunted him through the night. The only time the nightmares had been so bad was right after the war. During the conflicts Quatre hadn't allowed himself to think too much, and even though he had nightmares, he managed to get enough sleep to fight at top level, but after the battles were over, the nightmares settled in. After a month of dealing with heavy insomnia, Sally had prescribed him sleeping pills but the solution turned out to be worst, making Quatre incredible edgy during the day. In the end, Quatre had stopped taking the pills. After he joined Preventers the nightmares started to ease, allowing him to get some rest once in a while, and during the years they had gotten less frequent, to the point that he had no more than three a month.
The fact that he had spent the last two months completely cut off from his friends didn't help either. Over the years, Quatre had learnt to rely on all of them, not only as comrades but as family. Une had said it wouldn't be more than three weeks, only three weeks. Quatre would still have gone if he had known it would take longer but maybe he wouldn't have left in such haste, maybe he would have tried to settle things before going away, but then again, maybe it was too late for maybes now.
The upbeat music suddenly stopped and the band that had been resting took their place on the small stage. The first notes were played by the piano which was joined soon enough by a violin, giving almost a melancholic sound to the tune. The beat was fast but the tune somehow kept the slow elegant sound. The soft tenor voice of the singer spoke foreign words, but Quatre didn't need to understand the language to understand the feeling. Passion, love, lost and longing, all wrapped up in a song. Many of the people on the dance floor took their seats and others stood up, ready to dance. It wasn't hard to notice that most of the dancers were locals. It was their tune, after all.
"The tango is the most romantic of all dances," said Martín Saavedra, the owner and CEO of SV Corporations, and their gracious host in the city of Buenos Aires. He leaned closer to the woman by his side, whispered something in her ear, took her by the hand and guided her to the dance floor.
"He's a player," commented Joseph Simmons, a sixty year old man with a mustache and an almost bald head. He was Quatre's contact with the other businessmen, the one who had first offered him to be a part of their exclusive circle, and had brought him in. "All the bastards who dance do it only for one thing…"
"Pussy," said Hans Riz, in a derogatory tone. "As if they aren't giving it away." He pulled his date closer to him and put a hand firmly around her waist to illustrate his point. Quatre bit the inside of his mouth.
Trying to tune them out, Quatre glanced at the dance floor, happy to ignore the drunken men for a while to focus on the couples dancing. Martín had been right; there was a certain romantic quality to the dance. The way the man's hands settled on the woman's waist or the way she leaned closer with the slightest pull. It was intimate; a dance of possession and surrender.
Quatre had been so distracted, looking at the way a woman balanced herself on her thin and long heels while she twirled, that he hadn't noticed Trowa until he was only centimeters away. He was wearing a tailored pair of dark brown trousers with a white silk shirt. His golden tie was hanging lose around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. There was also a woman with him, and they were dancing.
Trowa was holding onto her slim waist and she had a hand firmly pressed on his shoulder. They were dancing closely together, almost touching chests, their faces only centimeters away. They moved perfectly with the beat of the music, pulling and pushing, growing apart just to come together even closer than they had been. And while Quatre watched, unable to tear his eyes away, Trowa didn't look at him, not once.
The song ended and Trowa walked away, holding the woman's hand. Quatre was left staring at the empty space on the dance floor. Another song started and the floor was filled with movement again, but there was no sign of Trowa. Blinking slowly, Quatre downed the rest of the drink and wonder if the pressure of the job was finally getting to him enough to be seeing things, people, that weren't there.
A waiter walked by and Quatre asked for another scotch. It was the third this evening but he didn't care. He could hold his liquor and right now he needed a distraction. He couldn't afford to think of Trowa. He needed to stay focused or his cover would be blown. However, the memories of that afternoon came rushing back to Quatre: Trowa's look after Quatre had tried to kiss him, the confusion in those eyes and then Quatre's apology had been met with silence. Quatre had left then. He had boarded a shuttle and headed for his mission. He had regretted his decision to leave things like that with Trowa ever since.
The realization that Trowa didn't feel the same way he did had hurt, but leaving Trowa like that and probably ending his friendship, had hurt even more. Hours later, Quatre had been meeting with Joseph, knowing that he wouldn't be able to talk with Trowa until the mission was over.
He had been dreaming of Trowa a lot. Quatre didn't want to admit that it was one of the reasons he wasn't sleeping or that most of the nightmares were about ZERO and killing Trowa. However, he had to admit that the guilt of ending a friendship and hurting the person he cared for the most was starting to eat him alive.
Someone touched Quatre's arm lightly and he turned around to see Vikram Mills standing beside him. "We are meeting in a private room. Follow us."
Quatre nodded and followed the other businessmen out of the ballroom, not even sparing his date a glance. She would still be there waiting for him to take her home after he was done.
The room was a suite in the hotel they were all staying. It was on the top floor, the last door on the corridor. Quatre didn't doubt that it was secure. These people were very well organized and took great care to keep their business secret.
In the middle of the room was a round table where all the men were assembling. Quatre was familiar with all of them; he had been dealing with them for weeks. Frederik Kress, a fifty year old man and the leader of the organization, owner and CEO of the Kress Conglomerate, was sitting on the table having a drink. He was the big man. It had taken Quatre weeks before he had been was allowed to meet with him. The Kress Conglomerate was the name for the many factories Mr. Kress owned; most of them specialized in metals, machinery and weapons building. The majority of the Romafeller contracts for titanium and other hard metals for the Mobil Dolls had been met by Kress' factories. After the fall of Romafeller and the end of the war, Kress' multibillion contract had fallen. He still held significant power with his other companies, but his main source of income had been neutralized.
The small group of businessmen was under Kress' control. He was the one who ran the operations and made the contacts, promising them that a new era of business opportunities for those in the weapons and the weapons dependant industries would soon come. Kress was very suspicious and didn't meet with anyone unless they had earned his trust. Quatre knew that the only reason why he was now in the inner circle was because Winner Enterprises held enough money and power to temp a man like Kress.
The seat next to Kress had been taken by his second in command, Hans Riz. He was thirty six and not nearly as high up the social circle as the rest of the men in the room. He had been an Oz officer during the war, but Preventers' intelligence showed that he had spent most of the war giving orders from inside an office. Quatre disliked the man intensely.
Joseph had entered only moments before Quatre and was taking his seat on Kress' other side. Vikram and Quatre moved forward, Quatre choosing the chair beside Joseph and Vikram the one next to Hans. There were two empty places. One was reserved for Martín, who was probably on his way up, but Quatre couldn't figure out for whom was the last. With Martín, the inner circle was complete.
Minutes later he got his answer. The door opened and Martín walked in, followed by Trowa.
Quatre bit the inside of his lip, hard, and forced himself to stay still. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes away from Trowa, not now when he knew he wasn't a hallucination brought on by stress and too much alcohol; he only hoped that his face didn't show the happiness, confusion and slight fear he was feeling right now. Trowa hadn't spared him more than a glance before he focused his eyes on Kress. The rational part of Quatre pointed out that that was the way an undercover operative should act, that looking at him for more than a second or showing any emotion or interest would be suspicious. Still, no amount of reason could stop Quatre from feeling hurt.
"I see you found Mr. Barton, Martín," said Kress. "Please, gentlemen, take a seat." After they did, Kress continued. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Trowa Barton… better known as Gundam pilot 03."
The silence that followed was heavy, and all eyes turned to Kress; all but Quatre's.
"With the help of some associates," continued Kress, "we managed to track him down, and after talking with him, he graciously accepted to help us in our little project."
Quatre forced his eyes away from Trowa, who was still ignoring him and looking straight ahead. He was angry, angry enough to put his fist through the table if he had the chance, but instead he forced himself to relax and keep his breathing even. Nine weeks ago, when Lady Une had asked him to her office to inform him of the mission, she had mentioned that they had dismissed the idea of using their identities as Gundam pilots to infiltrate the organization because it was too risky. The organization was likely to suspect a pilot, and sending any of them using that cover was the equivalent of handing them to the enemy. However, Lady Une had made it clear that she wouldn't hesitate to do just that if Quatre didn't accept the mission, and keep it confidential. Quatre would have done it anyway, but that small veiled threat had hung over his head since he had left for Argentina.
Trowa's presence here was not a good sign, for either of them.
Kress introduced everyone to Trowa before announcing, "He will be the test pilot for the Vega."
It took every ounce of control Quatre had not to give Trowa a questioning look. Vega was the real objective of Quatre's mission. He had infiltrated to find all he could about the organization and their plans, but especially, the development of a new aircraft, codename Vega. It had taken Quatre weeks to get the most basic information about it, and only after Kress met with him and approved his involvement in the project, had he been allowed to see the Vega blueprints and understood the danger of the plane.
It was a small stealth aircraft with fighter capabilities. Its speed could rival a Gundam's and it was practically undetectable. It was equipped with surveillance technology, defense systems and weapons, and it allowed for high maneuverability, providing the pilot was talented enough to handle it. They had recently completed the prototype, but after it was tested, it would be used to attack the current government and the Preventers' forces. The Vega was to be the first act of war, and Quatre's job was to steal it.
Last week he had visited the lab, located on the roof of the SV building – the organization's base of operations – and seen the prototype. He had been able to study the security on the building and, after studying the blueprints, he was confident that he could fly the aircraft. He had sent the information through his contact back to HQ a couple of days ago and now he was just waiting for the green light to make his move.
But now, with Trowa here, he wasn't sure of anything.
* * *
It was late when Trowa finally made it back to his suite. He closed the door behind him, took off his shoes and jacket and let himself fall on the bed. He remained there for a while, looking up at the ceiling of the five star hotel room and the small lamp bathing the room with a soft glow.
If it were up to him he would sleep, and hopefully allow himself some rest, but he knew this was going to be another sleepless night. He consciously avoided looking at the right corner of the room or the dresser, where he already knew the hidden security cameras were located. It was foolish to think that Kress wouldn't be suspicious enough to keep him under constant surveillance. He thought of the people watching him, what would they make of a Gundam pilot just laying on his bed, still dressed, and with no apparent intention of going to sleep.
He sat up slowly and started to unbutton his shirt. He took it off and let it fall on the ground before heading for the bathroom. There weren't any cameras there, thankfully.
Trowa finished undressing and turned on the shower, stepping under the spray immediately, even though the water was still cold. He just stood there, eyes cast down, waiting for the water to warm and, when it finally did, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. The expression on Quatre's face when he first saw him from the dance floor was engraved on Trowa's mind and it wouldn't go away.
When Trowa had taken the assignment, he had known that meeting Quatre again would be awkward and maybe painful, but he hadn't foreseen how much it would affect him. He had been looking for Quatre on the ballroom but that hadn't stopped him from missing a step and almost tripping his dance partner when he had seen him. It was Quatre's look as he slowly drank his scotch that had let Trowa see clearly how much this long assignment was affecting him.
He knew he should have kept his distance, at least for the moment, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. His eyes had been firmly focused on Quatre, following his every move, noticing the way he forced out a smile and then hid behind his glass. He hadn't even realized that he had been approaching Quatre until Quatre's eyes moved to the dance floor, and settled on him.
Instinct took over and Trowa forced his eyes back to the girl, whatever her name was, and guided her to the other end of the dance floor, away from Quatre and the sad eyes Trowa had managed to see before he'd looked away.
Moving back from the wall, Trowa took the small hotel soap, unwrapped it, and threw the paper in the tub, not caring where it landed. He soaped himself quickly and then stood under the spray again, this time adjusting the temperature to make the water cooler.
His hand stung and Trowa noticed that there was still soap there. He rinsed it off and then ran his fingers over the shallow cuts on his knuckles.
He hadn't meant to break Une's desk. It had been a reflex. He hadn't even noticed that he had punched it until he had to struggle to get his hand out of the hole he had made on the wooden surface. The door had opened to reveal many curious agents, looking inside but not brave enough to approach. Duo, Heero and Wufei must have been nearby because they made their way through the agents blocking the entrance, stepped inside without asking permission, and closed the door behind them. Trowa didn't remember exactly what Heero had said, but it had made Trowa blurt out angrily that Quatre hadn't gone home to deal with some WEI business, like they all believed, but was instead working solo in a deep cover operation and had been for the last two months.
None of them had known. Lady Une had said it was classified. She had let them all believe Quatre was too busy to answer their messages and calls, and Quatre had left without explaining. He had kissed Trowa and left. Two months of wondering if his fear had ruined his chances with Quatre, and their friendship. Two months! And he had to find out through Lady Une why Quatre never called him back, never gave him the chance to explain.
Trowa shut the water off and walked out of the shower. He put one of the hotel white towels around his waist and used another to dry his hair. It was cold and it was probably better to get into bed, but Trowa didn't want to leave the bathroom and the privacy it gave him just yet.
Une had warned him that it was a risky mission. They would probably suspect him from the moment he initiated contact, and the chances of capture or death were high. Trowa hadn't thought twice before accepting. She had messed up, and now Quatre was in grave danger. If the only way they could get Quatre out was for Trowa to take risks, he would do it.
The other pilots had volunteered to take his place. They knew that Quatre and Trowa hadn't left on good terms. They had seen Trowa grow sadder with each day when his calls weren't returned, and Heero had even had to go pick him up at a bar one Friday night when Trowa had decided to drink way too much, and had confessed his feelings for Quatre. Trowa had known that seeing Quatre would be difficult but the mission was something he needed to do himself.
He hadn't had the chance to talk to Quatre, but Trowa hoped that tomorrow he could pretend to talk to him about business and let him know that the mission had been compromised and that he needed to abort. For now, all he could do was go to bed, pretend to sleep and wait for the morning. It was going to be another long sleepless night.
* * *
It was a cold night. Wufei put his hands inside his coat pockets and walked faster. There were very few people roaming around the streets at this time of night, which was fine by him. The neighborhood wasn't a bad one, but it was obviously not part of the luxurious part of Buenos Aires. The buildings were old but well conserved and the streets were relatively clean. It was definitely better than the ratty apartment he, Duo and Heero had been sharing for the past day. They had stayed at worse places during the war, but the sight of the small and dirty one bedroom apartment had sent a shiver down Wufei's spine. Maybe he was getting old.
The building he was looking for turned out to be a three floor one, painted gray. Wufei moved to the door, took out his lockpicks, and unlocked it. He used the stairs to climb to the third floor and stopped in front a door marked 303. Wasting no time, he took out his gun and kicked the door open, pointing his weapon at the bald man in his underwear on the couch, watching TV.
Wufei walked into the room and closed the door behind him with one hand, keeping the one with the weapon firmly trained on the man. "Both hands where I can see them, Sandino." The man complied and Wufei walked further into the room. "I herby relieve you of your position as a Preventer agent and take you into custody for the charge of treason."
Taking the cuffs from his pocket with his free hand, Wufei moved towards the man and harshly pulled both of Sandino's arms behind him, cuffing them at the wrists.
"It's too late." Sandino's voice was hoarse and low, but Wufei could detect a hint of amusement. "Your friends are as good as dead."
Wufei pushed the man against a wall and pressed the barrel of his gun to Sandino's neck. "Explain," he said, not trying to hide his anger. He had been irritated since the moment he'd found out that the reason why Quatre was in danger was this man; the agent that Une had assigned to be his contact in Argentina with Preventers and who was suspected of working for the very organization they were trying to bring down. Antonio Sandino's bank accounts had proven that he had been receiving a lot of money from an Argentinean corporation, one that was owned by Martín Saavedra. Sandino was Quatre's only contact, and if he had turned, then Quatre's cover was blown. Every moment he stayed in Argentina, he was at risk. That was why, in a desperate attempt to reach him, Une had decided to send Trowa to get Quatre out.
Sandino let out a bitter laugh. "They know."
"They know what?" asked Wufei, pressing the gun harder into Sandino's neck.
"Barton." The man coughed. "They know he's a Preventer."
Wufei glared. Sandino shouldn't have that information. Very few people had the clearance to know about the pilots' involvement with Preventers. "How?"
The man sneered. "They don't discuss those things with me."
Wufei moved the gun away and let Sandino collapse on the floor. He took out his cellphone, but before he could dial he heard Sandino laugh.
"They told me about Barton because they needed me to do something, and you are too late to stop that, Preventer." The man smiled and finally declared, "I just sent Winner to his death."
The phone still in his hand, Wufei walked to Sandino and pressed his foot on the man's windpipe. "What did you do?" He applied a little more pressure as he glared at Sandino, daring him to keep silent.
"I gave him the green light."
"Fuck!" Wufei moved his foot away from Sandino to kick him in the head when he saw the triumphant smile on the man's face. Sandino grunted in pain and then fell on the floor unconscious. Wufei didn't spare him another glance as he dialed a number on his cellphone.
"Yuy, we have a problem."
* * *
Quatre could still taste the coffee in his mouth. It was incredible what two espressos did to him. He silently thanked the heavens that there was a coffee machine in his hotel suite or he wouldn't be awake enough to go through with the mission. It was his fault, anyway. He knew he shouldn't have drunk so much; just a glass so no one would suspect him, but after seeing Trowa, and then having to sit so close to him and pretend they didn't know each other, Quatre had kept the scotch bottle by his side, and made sure his glass was never empty.
Sandino's call, one hour after Quatre had made it to his room, was unwelcome but not unexpected. Quatre had been waiting for the green light, and he had known it could come at any moment. Tonight, however, Quatre was annoyed, depressed, still confused about Trowa, and a bit drunk. To say that it wasn't the best night for him to sneak into a high security building and steal a prototype plane would be an understatement.
He had managed to sneak inside the perimeter fence without a problem. He was dressed in black, wearing gloves and with a baseball cap over his head so his blond hair wouldn't reflect the moon's light and give away his position. Pressing himself against the back wall of the building, Quatre waited until he was sure that the outside guard had walked by and around the corner before taking a grappling gun from his pack. He took a couple of steps back from the wall and aimed. The line shot up and moments later there was a small clanking sound as the magnetic grappling hook attached itself to the building's wall, only a couple of centimeters below the roof. After putting the gun back in his pack, Quatre pulled the cable a couple of times, and when he was sure it was stable enough, he secured the clip to a metallic ring on his belt and grabbed the cable with both hands. "Here goes nothing," he whispered.
Balancing his feet on the wall and using the cable as leverage, Quatre started to climb up. He had only a few minutes to get up the ten floors and into the roof before another guard was scheduled to walk by his location. Halfway through, Quatre started to feel the strain of two months without training. Since the mission started, he had only managed to get a few hours in the hotel's gym a day, which helped him keep fit but was a long call from the training he did when he was back home. His shoulders and upper arms were sore, but Quatre forced himself to climb faster, too aware that time wasn't on his side. Finally reaching the roof, Quatre pushed himself over the ledge, clicked the button on the grappling hook that would release it from the wall, and then pulled the cable up.
After unclasping the cable from his belt, Quatre pushed it inside his backpack and then just sat on the floor for a moment, catching his breath. He waited for the guard on the ground to walk by before standing up. Most of the roof of the large building was a wide open space, but on about one fifth of it, on the north corner, the lab had been built. The doors were two large metallic gates that slid open after a key card was inserted in the lock and the right seven digit password given.
Retrieving the electronic device from his pocket, Quatre inserted the card in the slot and waited until the red numbers on the little screen came to a stop. He grinned and typed the password on the panel, and seconds later the large gates started to slide open. Quatre slipped inside as soon as the gap was wide enough, using the soft moonlight to navigate inside the lab. He had been here only a few days before and the scientist had showed him and the other businessmen all their gadgets and experiments proudly. While he listened, Quatre had taken note of the cameras inside and the alarms placed on the more valuable experiments.
He needed to move fast. He might not have triggered any alarms but the guards monitoring the vids would surely notice that the lab was suddenly brighter. Quatre walked quickly to the iron door at the end of the lab, being careful to stay out of camera view. If the guards were observant they would already know he was there, but if they weren't, Quatre saw no reason to alert them to his presence.
The second door had a similar locking mechanism. However, this required two keycards and two passwords to open. Quatre was prepared. Using another device exactly like the first, he repeated the operation and soon enough, the second set of double doors slid open, revealing the prototype plane behind them.
Quickly, Quatre pushed the different tables out of the way, making sure that the plane could taxi out of the lab. Moments later the lights went on, and the loud sound of the alarm was heard. Forcing himself to remain calm, Quatre ran towards the aircraft and slipped inside the cockpit.
According to the blueprints, the ignition system was activated by a password and a command typed on the panel. Quatre used the keycard again, hoping that it could hack this password as well. He waited for the numbers to stop flashing, knowing all too well that every second it took for the machine to work diminished his chances of getting out of this alive. Finally a password was displayed and Quatre quickly typed it and the command to start the ignition. He held his breath, one second, two, and then the roar of the engine was heard. Quatre breathed again.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, "let's take a ride."
He had never been inside the Vega but the feel of the controls under his fingers was familiar and comforting. Quatre smirked, feeling all the confidence he had felt the first time he had climbed inside a mobile suit. He could do this.
The aircraft started speeding, too slowly for Quatre's taste. The roof wasn't too wide and if the plane didn't gain enough speed soon then this would be a very short flight with a rather abrupt landing.
"I can do this," Quatre said, feeling the plane speed up just as it cleared the lab doors. The ledge seemed awfully close but Quatre kept pushing. This plane was getting off this roof, one way or another.
The guards had finally reached the roof but Quatre didn't spare them more than a glace. Right now, the only obstacle between him and a successful mission was that ledge, getting quickly closer and closer, and damn it if he wasn't going to conquer it.
It was now or never. Quatre pulled the nose of the plane up and held the controls with both hands, fighting to keep it steady. The airplane lifted and moments later it was climbing higher into the sky. Quatre let out a relieved sigh and leaned back on the chair, smiling. He quickly checked the fuel and pressure levels, noticing that everything was normal, and then typed the command to pull the wheels inside. After checking the coordinates, Quatre started to head to the rendezvous point, a small village with a clandestine airfield north of Buenos Aires.
Vega was almost as fast as it was said to be. Quatre smiled sadly; it wasn't quite as fast as a Gundam, but it was closer than anything he had piloted since he had destroyed Sandrock. For a few minutes, Quatre let himself enjoy the feeling of being in the air, the pull of the G forces, the way the controls felt so right in his hands. He had missed this, more than he cared to admit.
And then Quatre's heart stopped. There was a noise that shouldn't be there, a noise that signaled that something was very wrong with the engine, and then, there was total silence. Quatre's hands reacted before his mind processed what was happening, maneuvering the aircraft and trying to keep the nose as up as possible, even though it was a lost fight. The engine was dead. Quatre typed the start command but nothing happened, and then it dawned on him. He was going to crash.
He was losing altitude fast, and soon enough the city was visible below him, getting closer and closer.
Quatre gripped the controls tightly, trying to avoid the tall buildings and maneuvering the plane towards the river. Hopefully he would be able to prevent civilian casualties this way, but there were houses and small buildings on each side of the river so there was still a risk.
His fingers typed quickly the eject command and he let one hand hover over the enter key while the other gripped the controls tightly, trying to keep the direction of the aircraft.
'The river looks dark at night,' Quatre thought, and pressed the enter key. An explosion was the last thing he heard.
* * *
"He's not answering. He's not fucking answering!" Duo slammed down the phone and let out a frustrated sigh.
"Maybe he can't. He's aware that he's under surveillance," Heero said.
Duo ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like this. He hated not being able to do something. His friends were in danger and here he was, sitting in an old smelly apartment doing nothing. It wasn't his style. Deciding not to wait a minute longer, Duo stood up, opened his suitcase, took out his guns and started to put on the waist, shoulder and ankle hostlers.
Without a word, Heero followed suit and a few minutes later they were both armed and ready to go. Duo opened the closet and looked between his Preventers' jacket and a long black leather coat. Finally, he picked the coat and put it on.
"If backup comes they'll assume we are the enemy," said Heero, taking out a dark gray coat and putting it on.
"Wufei better cover our asses then." Duo placed his Preventers badge inside his pocket. "If we take those jackets we might as well put on a sign that says shoot me."
The night was cold and Duo instinctively moved closer to Heero, their shoulders almost touching. The streets were nearly empty but, as they had seen, Buenos Aires had a lively night life. Every now and then a group of drunken people passed by singing loudly, a couple rushed by them holding hands or a single man walked by slowly, his head down, the sign of a rough night.
"I miss that," Duo murmured, looking at a group of young drunk men who were laughing as they tried to get a friend, who had obviously drunk way too much, home.
Heero glanced at the men and then went back to watching the street ahead. "You got drunk last Friday."
Duo snorted and elbowed Heero on the ribs. "It's not that, and you know it." He smiled sadly. "I miss all of us going for a beer after work, or just hanging out. We saw Tro and Fei, but after Q left it just wasn't the same."
"Trowa wasn't really there." Heero put his hands inside his pockets. "He was too busy blaming himself."
Duo let out a low growl. "She saw him every day and didn't tell him."
"Quatre didn't tell him either," Heero said.
Duo was quiet. He wanted to blame Une, think that it was all her fault, and that Trowa and Quatre had both been victims. Then, they could set things straight and Quatre and Trowa would be together, happy again, and things would be like before, when the five of them would catch a movie and drink a beer, like normal people did.
But it wasn't that simple. Quatre had left without out telling any of them and Trowa was hurt. Duo liked to think he and Quatre were very close; he would like to defend Quatre and say it wasn't his fault, that he was ordered to keep silent about his mission, but Duo knew those were empty excuses. Quatre wouldn't let Une order him around if he didn't agree with her orders. Trowa had never told them what had happened between him and Quatre, but whatever it was, it had hurt Trowa deeply and it had driven Quatre away.
There might not be a chance to fix things but Duo would be damned if he let his friends hurt each other like that. He wasn't above locking the both of them in a room until they resolved whatever conflict they had, until they admitted they loved each other. Why couldn't they just kiss and move on? Everyone could see that they cared for each other, then why was it so hard for them to be honest with themselves?
A small voice told Duo that he had felt the same way, that he had also been scared. Luckily, Duo Maxwell wasn't the type of person who ran away from his fears. It hadn't been a year since they all had joined Wufei in Preventers when Duo, scared as hell but still determined to say what he had to, had entered Heero's office, closed the door behind him, walked up to Heero and without preamble told him that he loved him.
Heero had told Duo later that, ironically, it had been Quatre the one who had talked him through his fears and given him the courage to call Duo at four in the morning to say, "Me too." Quatre, who was so good at ignoring his own advice and had run away.
"There's the hotel," Heero said, pulling Duo out of his daze. The Hotel Internacional stood tall a block in front of them.
"Any ideas or just shoot first and ask later?" asked Duo.
"Let's try to slip by first. Trowa is supposed to be in room 2068. If he isn't there--"
"If he isn't there we grab the closest son of a bitch and demand answers!"
"This is Martín Saavedra's hotel," said Heero, stopping and looking at Duo. "They might be expecting us."
Duo grinned. "Good thing we are ready." He leaned towards Heero and kissed him quickly. "Let's get the idiots back."
Heero smiled and nodded, but before they could walk the last block towards the hotel there was a crash followed by an explosion by the river.
* * *
-->To part 2
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-03 02:04 pm (UTC)*fangirls you*
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Date: 2006-07-04 06:25 am (UTC)*fangirls you*
*blink* *blinkblink* That's weird...
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Date: 2006-07-04 08:19 pm (UTC)