Pairings: 1+2+1/1x2x1; reference to past 1xR (Rx1?)
Disclaimer: *sigh * If anyone wants to sue me, they'll have to wait till
I've made my fortune from my bestseller.
Warnings: Part 1 has no warnings. In future parts there will be: lemons;
angst; shonen-ai and yaoi; language. All police procedures are based on
British ones -- aka, what I've seen on The Bill -- but I don't
suppose it really matters. Suffice it to say, it's the future! It's all
hazy anyway... Speaking of the Bill any unseen additional characters
in the police station scenes are undoubtedly from this once-great, now
not-so-great show. I don't own them, either.
Notes (IMPORTANT): This is an AU fic, though there are quite a lot of
similarities to the GW universe, and it is set in an AC timeline; by necessity
everyone is older than they are in GW; I've increased everyone's ages
to 18 at the time of the war. The opening couple of chapters will probably
be deathly boring I have a lot of scene- setting to do. But bear
with me, and I promise lots of lemon eventually! In fact, this whole thing
grew out of a PWP idea that hit me late one night coming back from Tesco's.
But, enough of this... and on we go...
+ Part 1
Drizzly, shivery thin mists of rain that drenched and froze what they
They touched Heero, sitting alone on a bench in the deserted park. Miserable.
Summed it up.
Heero missed the colony. Earth was a good place, an unpredictable place,
a natural place, but it was still alien to his colony-bred sensibilities.
Even though he had lived on earth for nearly ten years... every time
he went into space he almost wept. Not homecoming, nothing so ephemeral
as that; but familiar, solid, something he knew about.
Heero wanted to go home.
He stared about the park. Not a soul. Empty, empty, empty. He was grateful
for the lack of human contact: the innate joy of life, he suspected, would
only have made him more miserable.
He looked at his watch: lunch was almost over. Time to get back. His skin,
paled by the cold, showed up the yellowy bruise under where his watch
rested on his wrist. He rubbed it automatically, feeling nothing now,
Abruptly he stubbed out the cigarette. He didn't smoke them; just sat
and watched them burn, right down to the filter tip. It just felt comforting
to be able to make this little pretence at ordinariness, to do something
everyone else didóyet know it wasn't real. A little secret from
the world. He lit another as he walked back to work, watched it burn away;
looked while crossing the road, looked back to notice the extra millimetres
of ash. Watched it burn, ineffective; out of his control. Stubbed the
end out on the wall of the police station, and went inside.
The first message on his monitor was from the duty sergeant downstairs.
It didn't sound too urgent, so after checking the rest of the messages
he decided to check it out, rather than take up one of the more important
things he could be doing. Might be more amusing. Making his way swiftly
back downstairs he quickly made it to the duty sergeant's desk.
"Ah, sir, yes, Nick and Ben arrested some guy in connection with
those drugs offences you were looking into. Cell 9."
Heero nodded his thanks to the sergeant and followed him to the cells.
He kept his ears open to the sounds of the station: no yelling from behind
the cell doors, thankfully; the quiet hum of the strip light; a voice,
answering an unheard question.
Heero listened. The voice... it belonged to a leader. Heero knew in
an instant. This person was the focal point of any group he was with.
Heero couldn't make out all the words, as he progressed along the corridor
of cells, but the easy, deliberate speech pattern stuck in a loop in his
hearing. The speaker was clearly so self-assured that he believed whatever
he was saying: the concept of being wrong, being untruthful, was an abstract,
from another sphere.
Or that was the impression he gave.
The door to cell 9 swung open, and Heero retrieved his prisoner. The young
man looked sullen, refused to meet Heero's eye, instead staring fixedly
into the middle distance. He reminded Heero, as so many of these young
boys did, of himself. He would like to think that he wouldn't have been
so foolish as to get caught... except he knew it was a lie. Of course,
back then, it was harder to escape notice: paranoid soldiers and strength
of numbers made it all too easy to be discovered, as Heero found out on
more than one occasion. And he would have thought nothing of using some
pretty desperate methods of escaping; but then, times were pretty grim.
When he saw prisoners waiting for questioning in these little cells, he
couldn't help the flashes of relief that would wash over him, that these
men and women, the majority of them still young, would never have to experience
what he had. He was glad they were there, arrested for shoplifting, or
possession of drugs, or causing a disturbance; glad for the stability
of a society that paid attention to these petty crimes and had the time
and resources to at least try to deal with them. Made his own struggles,
his own capture, his own fighting... meaningful. Once, he had seen
someone he recognised, sitting resigned on the wooden bench in cell 3;
they'd once fought as allies, sharing a common enemy and a common age.
"Heero Yuy!" the young man had exclaimed. Heero had said nothing,
but led the man towards the interview rooms. As Heero started the discs
recording, the young man took the opportunity to make his indictment of
a system that allowed "...mass killers to arrest their former
colleagues for forgery and counterfeiting."
"So, you admit the charges then?"
His prisoner looked stunned. He leaned over the desk, his voice a harsh
whisper: "It's not important though, is it? When you think of what...
Heero didn't reply. `What I had to do.'
"I was only doing what I had to... just like back then..."
Heero didn't reply. `But that was for a reason. A cause.'
"I didn't have a choice!"
Heero didn't reply. `You should have given yourself the choice.'
"But..." the man looked defeated already by Heero's silence.
"It's not important..."
Heero didn't reply. `We fought to make it important. If you didn't want
this, you shouldn't have fought to protect it. This... is what we wanted.'
Heero looked up. "Interview terminated at one thirty-three pm."
His colleague escorted the prisoner back to the cell, and Heero followed
silently. It made him bitter, how he'd nearly dies for peaceóothers
had diedóbut people abused it. They couldn't get used to
stability; they were so used to being too busy worrying about the war
to commit crimeóand if crimes were committed, they were seldom
noticed or investigated in the confusion.
Heero knew people were idiots.
Through all his thoughts that stranger's voice had still stood out, Heero
realised, as he noticed it had stopped, like the sudden quiet in the restaurant
when the music you hadn't even realised was playing is switched off. He
was back by the sergeant's desk now, and couldn't help look for the owner
of the commanding voice.
The man, he was probably Heero's age, leant back on the desk, looking
absently towards the ceiling. Totally at ease; not noticing his surroundings;
thinking. Heero turned, looked at the young man's face. Some people, Heero
always thought, looked like they were the leading players in life. They
were seldom thought of as conventionally beautiful; some, in fact, were
ugly. Others... were stunning. All looked like they... stood out.
Important people. Heero thought, quite honestly and objectively that he
himself was one of that sort of people.
This young man was also one of them. Hair in a long plait; slim; just
a little shorter than Heero. Dressed casually all in black, but he looked
smart: a figure that would look fine in any clothing. Heero gazed neutrally
at the young man's profile.
As if feeling Heero's eyes, the man turned, his own gaze picking Heero
out immediately, although others too were looking, waiting for the young
man's next pronouncement.
But he looked straight at Heero: one star to another. He smiled. Heero
felt like the young man knew him. He didn't move, and didn't look away.
The duty sergeant saw the look. "This is Duo Maxwell, sir. He has
some... information for us. I'll explain it to you after you've finished
this interview." Reminding Heero of the prisoner he had come to question.
Heero nodded, not moving his gaze. Sizing up the stranger who walked towards
him, extending a hand.
"So, you're the detective inspector round here?"
Heero took the hand, shook it, nodded. "Heero Yuy. I'll review the
information as soon as I can." He meant it. He felt it would be important,
from a person with such... meaning?
"Thank you very much for taking the time." Finally he let Heero's
hand drop. Still looked into his face: measuring him as Heero had doneóare
you like me?
Heero watched the young man's eyes. They were a rich blue, brighter than
his own; they hid a sparkle, a mischief... they were the sort of eyes
that belonged to a person who would make a joke about your sexual prowess
or your bank balance, and wink at you. Heero hadn't seen eyes like those
for a long time.
"Pleased to meet you, Inspector Yuy."
Yes. Yes you are.
[part 2] [back
to Elyndys' fic]