Rated R for language, violence, sexual content, attempted NCS (not graphic,
and only attempted) and somewhat gory scenes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing characters, or any other anime characters
for that matter (sigh). I'm using them here for the sheer fun of it, and
am not making any money off of them in any way.
This arc of Whispers takes place a little time after the last arc of One
Percent, but you don't have to read it to understand this one.
UPDATE: Huge thanks to Saro for correcting me on a technical point in
this chapter. I had Duo wearing a wetsuit for his ‘dive'. Which is permeable
to water (and other fluids). Saro has just saved my life by allowing me
to change this to an impermeable drysuit before Duo took a dip, as Shinigami
would have probably killed me as a result :)
Something thuds and lingers
against the full face diving mask. Something black and mushy.
"You're dead, Yuy. Deader than dead. I'm going to kill you slowly. I'm
going to tie you down, cut off your skin in inch-wide strips, then throw
you to the crows."
*Duo, stop talking.*
"Oh, and I'll talk the whole time. I'll not shut up until the birds
rip off your-"
*Duo, shut it.*
"No, you shut it! Or you come down here and make me shut it!"
I'm not normally so aggressive towards my lover, but then, he normally
doesn't come up with plans that have me swimming through a major sewer
The water is warmish, but somehow I can't seem to forget that it's because
of fermenting raw sewage rather than, say, because I'm in Maui. God help
you, Yuy, if any of this gets into my hair. I must have thought this at
least a hundred times in the past half hour. Heero's ears must be ringing
like air-raid sirens.
Of course, to be fair, Quatre, our tactician, decided we were going to
go for this target, and Trowa, who knew the place from a previous infiltration,
suggested the weakness in their defences. But it's my lover who agreed
and drew up the plan and as a result it is yours truly who is swimming
through raw sewage goddamit!
Heero hadn't even looked sheepish when he told me not suggested, mind
you, told me- what the plan was. He did help me get ready for it, despite
the fact I spent the whole time chewing him out thoroughly I think he's
learned to tune me out by now.
Oh yeah, that was another thing. He helps me to get ready, right? And
we had loads of time, right? And this getting ready consisted of me in
trunks, a drysuit, a can of Vaseline and the perfect soldier, all alone
because the others had left to avoid hearing me bitch at full volume.
Now what was the enjoyment factor that we drew from those promising components?
I'll give you a hint. It has some relation to Wing's advanced computer/mind-screwing
system. That's right. Zero. ‘Cause we were preparing for a mission and
those things are serious (when you're perfect). And because I was
hopping mad too, but he could have at least made a pass!
"I'm there." I mutter, as I see the ledge of the tunnel up ahead.
*About time. You are four minutes behind schedule.*
That's it, Yuy. You are so not having sex for at least a week.
I grab the ledge and haul slowly, rising out of the gunk like the swamp
creature. I lean forward on my arms, the sewage still tugging at my waist.
-Flashback, plunging into Heero arching beneath me in a silent poem of
strength and passion-
At least three days. I sit on the ledge, trying to be as silent as I can
despite the small shluup of the sewage relinquishing me reluctantly. I
lean back against the tunnel wall, trying to see ahead in the darkness
barely lit by my very grimy headlamp.
-Flashback, leaning back against Heero's firm chest as I slowly ease myself
down on him, legs and arms twined, every inch of our bodies in contact-
Well he's certainly not getting lucky tonight!
That's fairly likely, you moron, since this mission will last until then
and you'll be lucky to be home before midnight.
Well so at least that's one promise I can keep, I think, simmering, trying
to shake some of the crud off of me while I look for the clean water outlet
that should be around here. I'm on a stealth mission so I need to get
out of the drysuit without getting anything nasty on me, ‘cause I'm not
going to be very stealthy if I'm surrounded by a visible miasma of sewage.
Plus if I get any of this on my skin I will have to kill my lover, and
that's the kind of messy ending to a relationship that I try to avoid.
The clean water cascades down on me, hard and smelling of iron when I
finally lift of the face-mask. I carefully rinse off the drysuit and the
waterproof bag I'm carrying, then turn the water's release handle reluctantly,
vaguely wishing I had some soap. Or industrial strength bleach.
I squirm out of the suit still chary of touching a thing so contaminated-
and flip the uniform out from the bag. It's an OZ trainee suit, with a
cap to hide my hair as much as possible. When I'm in infiltration mode,
most people don't look at me much anyway. I'm good at blending right in.
I wipe off sweat and stray Vaseline from my skin with a cloth Heero thoughtfully
provided and struggle into the uniform. Then I check the mike and commlink.
"Still hearing me?"
"Is Trowa still going to kill me if he finds out I commandeered this?"
"Well I won't tell him if you won't."
The ‘this' in question is the sweetest little infiltrator tool ever. It's
a throat mike that is little more than a thin film of circuits in flesh-coloured
plastic that can pick up my voice even if I talk sub-vocally, and pirate
the nearest receiver to carry the signal. It's pasted in a long line onto
the flesh of my throat, in the fold of the neckline, and is all but invisible.
It works off the electric differential of my skin so there's not even
any energy pack to give it away. The earpiece that goes with it is tiny
as well and fits right down in my auditory canal, it can't be seen unless
you dig it out with a Q-tip.
Dr S sent them to Trowa, our main infiltrator, and inasmuch as Mr Laconic
cares about anything besides Quatre, he loves these babies. I'll be putting
them back in his bag as discreetly as I had, ah, borrowed them, once I
get back, but I just can't resist a new toy. This is not a mission where
continuous communication is vital, but I'd still managed to find some
excuse or other to wear the things, and get Heero to wear the controller
set and listen in.
In fact the only use I've had for them so far is to flay him verbally
during the sewer dive. The wonders of modern communication. I expected
him to hang up after the first three minutes. Actually I was surprised
he agreed to listen in at all instead of putting his gun in my face and
ordering me put the things back in Trowa's room. But no, he's still on
the line, listening in on my mission. Though I'm not getting any warm
fuzzy feelings about how much he cares/worries about me; I frequently
hear the patter of keys near the mike on his end, while he works on his
laptop and probably ignores every nine words out of ten I send winging
I smooth down the uniform and compose myself. I get into the skin of a
fresh-faced eighteen year old cadet on his first real job in the force,
a helpful lil' go-fer who's only too willing to lick someone's boots if
they'll kick him up a rung in the ladder in return. I hate myself instantly,
but then it's certainly no worse than swimming through a sewer. And if
I do it right, I can walk out of the base instead of swimming out the
way I came in. Ahhh, incentive.
I double-check that my OZ-regulation side-arm is loaded and ready on my
hip, and that my less-than-regulation blade in its spring-load arm-sheathe
is ready for anything unexpected. From the water-proof bag I take out
my secret weapon a manila folder that has ‘I'm busy working for someone
else so don't ask me questions' written all over it- and head out into
the base as if I'd been here for months.
My synapses crackle with silent swearwords as I have to backtrack again
to get around another check-point that wasn't on Trowa's map. It had been
months since he'd been here, and security has been tightened. It's only
a minor ground vehicle maintenance and paper-chasing outpost, none of
us had thought of looking into the layouts of this low-priority target.
Trowa had only been here for a couple of days, in transit to another,
more crucial posting. It was amazing he remembered anything at all. I
have a good sketch of the building and its perimeter, but the security
posts have been switched around. Oz has known several military defeats
and political infighting in the past months, and even minor posts like
this have learned to be careful.
*Are you in the central core yet?*
"No." I whisper as I brush my nose to hide the movement of my lips. "Security."
Maybe having Heero listening in wasn't such a good idea. He's not used
to improvisation, Shinigami-style, and he's already sounding antsy.
*Hn. Can you bypass?*
I'm walking along a very busy hallway, open to one side to the truck park.
My nerves are humming, though this is not apparent in my body language.
There are a lot of enemy around, if any realize who I am…
"Gonna have to." I mutter. Maybe I should try breaking in the hard way.
I don't have the ID to go with the uniform, it was useless to cook it
up as any check-point guard would know I didn't belong in the base. There
aren't enough people here to not know every cadet. If I break into the
ventilation system I can bypass all the checkpoints and get in easier.
It'll be slower than just walking in, I'll have to disconnect-
The thing about war is that it's so fucking random.
I'm walking near the wall, in shadows, to avoid any prolonged look at
me. The door just in front of me opens as I walk right into it. Random.
I'm shoved back my reflexes get my arms up to protect my head from the
violent smashing of the door- and fall heavily. People turn to look at
what the commotion is about. The man who burst through the door he looks
so mad I briefly wonder if his lover sent him swimming through a sewer
today- turns to me quickly. His scowl changes to a sneer as he takes in
my uniform. Turns into something else, his ‘Watch where you're going,
newby!' dying on his lips as he takes in…
My cap has fallen off and my non-regulation braid has hit the floor with
a tap behind me.
And this guy isn't stupid.
Neither are the other two men who are pointing guns at me three seconds
Sorry love. Maybe I should have stayed in the sewer.
[part 5] [back to