Storm Clouds over Europe

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“Fancy,” Duo whistles when he spots a large tennis court on the right of the driveway. Leave it to Quatre to call us for a mission that takes us into the high society. This is going to be a classy one, literally. I can’t wait for the mission details- he wasn’t very specific, only saying something about ‘computer skills coming in handy’. A hack job, it’s been a while since I had one of those.

“Are we there yet?” Duo grins.

I laugh in response. “This driveway takes forever!”

We both whistled the next second, when the mansion came into plain sight, no longer masked by the huge oak trees.

“Holy crap on a wheat cracker! That’s one huuuuge house!”

I do need to blink twice to take in the three-story building showing up in front of us. It’s the pinnacle of fine architecture, no doubt about that- it reminds me of the Louis XVI style; pompous and luxurious. The foundation and the lower stories are erected in a huge bricks, plastered white, with baroque ornaments around every door and window. Too bad it doesn’t really fit with the more ‘simple’ country landscape; someone has obviously spent a lot of money on this... monstrosity of a house. It’s not really that esthetic to the eyes, and I know exactly why I like my furniture styled and bare again. I halt the car in front of the mansion; just in time to see two impeccably clad men walking down the –indeed, marble- steps to welcome us. I open the door of the car sooner then they can and step out, a bit haughtily.

“Welcome, mister...” The taller of the two starts.

“Yuy and Maxwell,” I say, voice clipped. “Personal guests of Mister Winner.”

He’s good- not a single change on his face. Quatre’s name is usually good for some jaw-dropping and wide eyes. “May I have your invitation please?”

“But of course.” I hand him the mauve envelope with Quatre’s name in gold script imprinted on it and he accepts it, pulling out the letter and scanning it, briefly but efficiently.

“Welcome, Mister Yuy, Mister Maxwell,” he simply declares, shoving the letter back into the envelope and handing it back to me. “Allow me to guide you to the Blue Room. Mister Winner will be with you shortly.”

“Excellent.”

I motion Duo to follow me, while the second man –servant, butler, bodyguard?- walks around the car, and opens the door.

“Your car will be parked outside of the estate,” the man says, “Mister Masterson doesn’t appreciate cars this close to his house.”

I nod my head to acknowledge his words, though I’m mentally weighing my options. Without a car directly near, chances of escape are more limited, should that be necessary. It all depends on the mission, and what kind of mission Quatre has for us. It’s just my soldier’s instinct acting up- analyzing and processing. Duo admires the large hall; nothing will escape his sharp eyes under his pretense of being interested in the pompous, kitsch artifacts on the various oak wooden side tables, the thick carpets with hunting scenes, the flowery wallpaper, and the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. Masterson is the owner of the mansion, and Quatre is here, together with a lot of other officials, politicians and governmental representatives, as a guest of the man. I have searched for information on this philanthropist, who’s in charge of the upcoming charity ball with the goal to raise ten million or more for war victim funds. Relena must’ve been invited; maybe I can find a free moment to talk to her again.

The tall man walks in front of us until he takes a turn to the left, opening a large door. “Here we are, the Blue Room. Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’ll send a servant to you to take care of your needs.”

“When will Mister Winner be able to see us?” I ask, not about to give the man the upper hand. My tone is curt, snippy almost, but I stare him right in the eyes. Nobody overshadows Heero Yuy just by length alone.

“I’ll notify him immediately of your arrival,” he answers before turning around and leaving, and if I didn’t know any better he almost sounds bored.

“Thank you.” I turn around, looking at Duo who is checking out the so-called Blue Room. It’s just an ordinary waiting room, small, decorated in soft blue and silver colors, offering no more than a sofa, two seats and a uncomfortable looking couch. He plops down onto the sofa, pulling up his legs and winks at me saucily. The room has nothing remotely cozy- but who cares, when Duo’s in the room. I sit next to him, wriggling myself onto the small, Prussian blue sofa and pick up one of the embroidered round cushions.

“Stuffy,” he says. “What a bunch of fake, cheap crap shit.”

“Fake?” I repeat. “Since when do you know so much about baroque interior?”

He grins, looking at me from under his thick bangs. “I don’t. I didn’t mean it literally, Heero. Masterson has spent thousands and thousands on his interior; maybe millions, considering the size of the house, but it’s all fake, cheap garbage. He’s got probably lots to hide.”

“He’s a very rich man,” I shrug, recalling from the documentation I collected about Masterson that his personal hobbies encompassed looking for antiques and memorabilia, preferably from the baroque and rococo time. “He’s got the money to afford all this.”

“And to hide.”

“Hide behind what?”

“This façade. Something’s got to be hidden behind this façade.”

“Duo, sometimes people like this kind of showing-off.”

“I like to show off too.”

“That’s completely different…”

The door opens and a young girl enters, wearing a silver-gray maiden dress with a white apron. “Good morning, gentlemen. How may I serve you?”

It’s too early for lunch and breakfast has been served hours ago, at least for me –I rise earlier than Duo-, and I feel like eating something. “Can you bring us a selection of sandwiches and some tea?”

“And some fruit juice as well, please?”

I keep forgetting that Duo isn’t much of a tea drinker, and I nod at the girl. I half expect her to make a curtsy, but she nods almost unnoticeably in return and leaves the room.

Duo stretches himself on the couch. “How long is it going to take?”

“He has a lot to do, he’ll come shortly,” I answer him. There is a small glass table in the far left corner of the room, with some glossy magazines on top. Maybe that will interest him. I’m about to reach for the magazines when the door opens again. It’s far too soon for the girl to return, so..

“Heero! Duo! So good to see you!” Quatre Raberba Winner opens his arms enthusiastically, and Duo is the first to throw himself onto him.

“Quatre! Long time no see! In person, that is!”

Quatre pats him on the back. “No matter how refined the technology, nothing beats seeing each other in person and being able to hug.”

“You got that right. How have you been?”

“Busy, tired, exhausted, but great!” Quatre smiles, and turns towards me. I don’t do hugs like Duo does, and he knows that all too well- still, our handshake is firm and expresses our mutual appreciation and friendship.

“There’s so much to do around here. You can go swimming, hiking, play tennis... there’s also a golf course close by.”

“Masterson sure has got it made,” Duo comments, taking in Quatre’s expression. He has lost a lot of his ‘angel face’ since the ending of the wars, shaping him into a good-looking, mature man. Combined with his innate self-confidence and ability to leadership, Quatre makes for a trustworthy, determined political advisor. Despite his young age, he’s overwhelmed with applications and requests for his expertise and knowledge, from the business world as well as the political crowd. He looks relaxed, smiling, as I’ve always known him to smile; blond hair a little ruffled, light blue eyes wise yet searching. Nothing much escapes him- his mind is even quicker than his eye, and he’ll come up with a strategy for any situation at hand sooner than you can pronounce his full name.

“He’s a kind man,” Quatre picks up on Duo’s comment. “He offers to organize the charity ball here- of course for the public attention and media coverage, but also because he knows that more people will flock together at his mansion than at some community building. This is the first time he has ever opened his house to the press.”

I refrain from asking, “How many press?” as my analytical mind is working hard. Media coverage, public attention... many people are going to be walking around the premises. Duo scowls a little bit; he’s usually quick to think there’s ‘something behind it’ when people are being so generous. I tend to agree with him most of the time, but this seems more of an action of an eccentric millionaire then if anything else. I think I remember having read about his two daughters who desperately wanted to go into the show business but were lacking severely in the talent department.. maybe the man’s hoping for a chance to launch their careers now.

“Come, let me show you around. It’s so good to see the both of you.” Quatre turns around, but halts in mid-movement. “Did you already order something? I’ll have it sent to my quarters instead.”

“Sandwiches, tea and fruit juice,” Duo answers, grinning slyly. “We’re hungry.”

“You always had a good appetite,” Quatre laughs, holding the door open for the both of us. “I won’t let it take too long. Come on, let’s go.”

I should’ve known that Quatre is far more and genuinely interested –or should I say, fascinated- by Masterson’s taste in interior decoration; this wing of the mansion has a far more Oriental touch to it then the Blue Room, reminding him of his homeland. Quatre chats a little bit about the preparations for the ball, which celebrities have arrived and which ones have to yet to arrive, along with the catering, and other arrangements. We answer with the appropriate answers, interested and in awe about the amount of organization, time and labor poured into the upcoming ball. We finally arrive at his quarters and he opens the door.

“Most of the time someone escorts me to my room,” he winks, “we’re being well guarded here.” We both understand what he’s talking about- Masterson sure wants his guests to be safe, notwithstanding the celebrities with all the media around- he’s not exactly looking forward to a scandal. Another reason for all this beefed-up security could be for a whole other reason; he has something to hide. Quatre unlocks the door, holding it wide open to allow us to enter.

“Nice,” Duo whistles. The room is decorated in the same Orient theme as the rest of complete wing; carpets all over the floor, draped curtains, sandalwood and cherry tree furniture. If I’m not mistaken, the small desk is completely carved from an ebony piece; the complete furniture is worth more then both our yearly income… multiple yearly income.

Quatre directs us to the sitting corner of the room, which has the same surface as our apartment altogether. Duo sits down on the couch, pulling up his legs and I go to sit next to him, quickly nuzzling his neck before Quatre sits down and looks at us again. Before he can start, someone knocks at the door and it’s the servant girl, carrying a large bronze tray.

“Thank you very much.” Quatre helps her put the heavy tray down, and she starts putting all the bowls and dishes on the large table; cut sandwiches, fruit, tea, little pastries, a warm dish (I can see the steam coming off it, but from my angle it’s hard to see what’s on the plate), and the fruit juice at last. How could she ever carry such a heavy tray upstairs and into his room?

Duo thanks her as well and I throw in my appreciation; she smiles a little before wishing us a “Bon appétit” and leaving the room, an empty tray in her hands.

“Some room service,” Duo says, rubbing his hands. ‘A selection of sandwiches’ apparently translates itself into “army-size supply of sandwiches” and I wonder if we could eat at least a little dent into the carefully stacked mountain of food.

“Please, have something to eat,” Quatre urges us, lifting up the bronze teapot to serve both him and me. Masterson really wants to serve his guests the best of the best, and who am I to object? I take one of the sandwiches from the pile and taste it; it’s deliciously fresh and tasty. The warm dish turns out to be pie, real English chicken and kidney pie; I think I’ll leave that alone.

Before we talk about business, Quatre continues his small talk, but more on a personal level. He wants to know how we’re doing, what we’ve been doing, and how we’re feeling in general. I know his room is safe to talk freely and we talk amiably, old friends with a bond that just can’t be broken, wars be damned. It’s immediately as if we haven’t been apart, not even for the slightest amount of time, even though I can hardly remember the last time we spoke. We laugh, we reminisce, we fall silent, we smile and we chuckle.

Quatre leans back, porcelain cup in his hand, the tea steaming. “You know, I do miss being active in missions,” he says, carefully blowing on the hot liquid. “Sometimes, though. Not always. I don’t think I’m really cut out for it anymore.”

“That’s nonsense, Quatre,” Duo objects. He’s on his… I’ve lost count… umpteenth sandwich, eating as if he hadn’t had breakfast a few hours before. His metabolism must really be in hyper-drive by now, because it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d suggest going out for lunch in an hour or so.

“I’m sure that if you were to do an active mission, you’d be back into your old routine in no time.”

“I think so,” he says, shrugging uncomfortably. “I haven’t really thought about it… I do miss it sometimes, but I think I miss that feeling of camaraderie more.. the feeling that you can trust someone to the core, your friends in war days, your friends who you could count upon, come hell and high water.”

“It was a… special time,” I say, carefully weighing my words. I’m not really sure how to react to Quatre’s sudden bout of melancholy.

He smiles, and takes a sip of his tea. “It’s because of the politics… it’s a cold and an even harder world than in the days of the war. Back in the war, you knew who your enemies were…” His eyes seem to darken a little. “No, that’s not true. Enemies could turn into friends, and friends into enemies. That’s the same for the world I’m in now, only they don’t use mecha to kill each other. They use words.”

“A political murder?” I ask, thinking about the upcoming mission. Duo elbows me in the rubs. “No, Heero, he’s talking about how political careers can be killed with words.”

“Ah,” I blink. Politics has never interested me, but I understand what Quatre is talking about; lately there have been quite a few scandals that’s made politicians give up their position in their party or committee to avoid further conflict of interest, or even more shame.

Quatre shakes his head. “That’s not the scope of the mission,” he says, voice void from any lightheartedness. “But it has a great deal to do with it.”

I straighten myself, assuming a rigid position. I notice that Duo softly sighs while eating another sandwich, but he also puts his feet back on the floor, sitting right up.

He puts his tea down on the table and leans a little to the side to take two flat files out of his briefcase. I accept them when he hands them over to me.

“Hugh and Jane Masterson.” Quatre reclines into the chair, which really seems uncomfortable to me, still, he doesn’t show any sign of discomfort. “To the outside world, a happy couple, he has become vastly rich from inherited money, lucky stock trade and a good nose for buying and selling real estate.”

“And she?”

“A good family background, destined for a bright career in the world of medicine,” Quatre continues. “Her father holds a Ph.D. in some biological field, her mother a position in a board for representing the national interests of hospitals. Jane has shown good intelligence and a preference for medical studies.”

Duo opens the file on the woman, even thinner than the one of the husband. “She dropped out because of the marriage?”

“Indeed. After the wedding vows were exchanged, she changed her life as well. She hasn’t pursued any college or study ever since.”

“That’s been more than 7 years,” Duo muses aloud. “She has a record of being involved with all kinds of boards and committees, and she was socially very active.”

“She still is.” Quatre puts some pictures of the married couple on the table. “She’s ‘socially show business active”, as we call it. Biggest friends with agents, impresarios, producers, directors, you name it.”

“Are we here for the wife or the husband?” I ask, a bit brusquely.

“Both.”

Duo scans the papers in the woman’s file. “I don’t see much out of the ordinary, except that she gave up on every activity after becoming the wife of Masterson. Since then, she’s been profiling herself as the philanthropist’s wife, with the right stylish outfit and the right accessories at the right time.”

“So what if they play the media,” I snort. “They get their attention; the press gets their pictures, blah blah everybody’s happy.”

Quatre laughs. “The reason for the upcoming charity ball is of course to raise the money, but also to show off for the media. There are a lot of celebrities and political hot shots here, and the security is gigantic to ensure their safety.”

“And why are we here for? You implied as much as a...”

“Look into his file,” he interrupts me. Duo puts the file on the woman on the table and puts his chin on my shoulder to peek.

“That’s quite another Hugh Masterson,” I say dryly.

Quatre narrows his eyes. “He plays by the book, following ‘old school rules’, Heero, Duo. He has carefully erased his past, and built up his new life thanks to an unexpected inheritance. He was lucky with his stocks indeed- until his world collapsed thanks to his own mistakes.”

“Let me guess, he falls into the wrong hands,” Duo mumbles, studying the file. Quatre nods, knowing that we’ve all seen this before.

“We still haven’t found out who’s behind the deposits of tens of thousands of dollars on his account. We haven’t been able to trace it back- there’s an Italian bank, a Swiss bank and some weird Serbian bank involved; I don’t know if it’s worth all the time and effort, but we’re working on it to find it out.”

“So Masterson loans money from shady characters,” I summarize.

“… and starts bullying his way into show business,” Quatre picks up. “You know the saying: “you’ve got to spend money to earn money.” He literally pays for his way up, building up his reputation as a philanthropist and charitable Don Juan... even though he’s happily married.”

“What does he have to do in return?” Duo frowns, and his arm snakes around my waist. He’s pretty touchy-feely, often looking for some kind of contact, but only with our friends or people we know very well around. He’s not one to constantly hold my hand. I don’t constantly hold his; in more ways than one. I wouldn’t want a very dependant partner anyway. Duo’s just perfect.

“That’s what you’re going to find out,” Quatre grins, lifting up his cup of tea again. “We suspect that Masterson abuses his contacts by setting them up in certain situations and using that as either bait or blackmail, in exchange for information. We’re not sure what kind of information, and how he gets rich by it. All we know is that he has lots of influential friends, not only celebrities- and they’re all together for a charity ball.”

I close the file. “If you want to have information out of Masterson, why doesn’t ESUN eh.. invite him for a chat? Surely we’re not here to have some kind of torture or interrogation session with him.”

“Oh no, no, Masterson is not to be harmed.” He sips from his tea, perfectly calm and composed. “His computer is fair game, though. I want you both to check out his office and report to me what kind of information he’s gathering and how ESUN can be affected by it. If he gathers dirt on ESUN people, or is buying his way in, I want to know it. His contacts, his methods of payment. Everything. Heero, you’re going to check out security- the bodyguards, the electronics, the computers. Duo, you’re going to locate Masterson’s office and you’re going to break and enter it, and give me a full report of everything you find.”

“Excellent,” Duo grins. “Sounds like a walk in the park to me.”

“No,” Quatre firmly states. “We’re on a limited amount of time. I have every perfect reason to be here, as I’m a guest speaker, and I’ll be attending the charity ball. It was already difficult enough to get invitations for the both of you; the ball is for a limited number of guests. I could obtain the invitations by claiming that you were some of my advisory experts, and that I needed to see you in person. I can only give you one opportunity to hack into the man’s computer, depending on what Heero finds out about how it’s been set up and protected.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it,” Duo smiles and nods. I have no doubt about him already making plans; we’ll discuss them later. Quatre takes another sip of his tea, finishing his cup.

“The charity ball is tomorrow night, so you have less than 48 hours. I want a full report on his files; I want to know if he’s bribing himself into ESUN, I want to know if he uses contacts for his own profits. Get cracking, gentlemen.”

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While Duo’s taking a shower, I unpack our suitcases. There’s only one way to open those, and me and Duo are the ones to know how. Maybe Quatre, Trowa or Wufei would be able to open them as well; anyone else would be fruitless in their attempts. I click both the handles open, revealing the contents; my own upgraded laptop and its paraphernalia; this is not just any laptop. Duo calls it “The laptop”, giving an ominous sound to the “The” every time he pronounces it. He knows darn well what kind of laptop this is; I could hack through the walls of Fort Knox in a blink of an eye with this thing. He respects my laptop, as in “no touching”, and I respect his death metal CD collection, as in “no complaining whenever it’s played”.

I boot it up, hooking several appliances into it, sticking the memory key into the appropriate slot and waiting for the splash screen to show.

The water in the shower is turned off; I don’t know why I always grin like a loon when I hear no more sounds out of the shower. Wait, I do know- it’s a chance to see him with his hair down. I never bug him about it, but I’d love to see him more often with his hair down. Whenever I unbraid his hair -not every single night- , it’s most of the time already dark or he turns out the light. He has no problems with public display, showing his affection, doing a quickie in the bushes in the park, but the lights go out when he has his hair down.

“You’ve got The laptop out?” He smirks, hair perfectly rolled up into a towel. I refrain from pouting.

“If there’s anything on this guy’s computer, I will find it.”

He nods, walking over to me to stand next to me. He presses a kiss on my neck. “How are you going to break in?”

I rummage through the appliances on the desk and hold up the small modem. “You’re going to hook it up to his machine.”

“All right. I’ll find out where his private offices are.” He wraps his arms around me, slightly soaking my shirt. He hasn’t dried himself off completely. I don’t care. The cinnamon scent coming from his hair -I can smell it even when it’s wrapped up in the towel- is far too overpowering to care for a wet shirt.

His fingers dig into the fabric, clawing at it, pulling it up. “Heero..” His voice is hoarse, raspy, huskily. The voice I can never resist. I wrap my fingers around his; caressing the bare digits- our rings are at home, we never wear them during a mission. We can’t be used against each other, never… though I know, Duo knows, that we both would sacrifice ourselves for the other. No doubt about that. He turns his hands, fingers entwining with mine, squeezing. He tilts his head a little, capturing my lips. I respond to the kiss, pressing my lips against his, swiping my tongue over his lower lip. He increases the pressure, parting his lips a little to flick out his own tongue. I’ve already closed my eyes; I love it when he kisses me, his warm lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. I’m not allowing him to dominate the kiss that easily- in a matter of seconds, we’re dueling, battling for control. Duo yanks his hands free, immediately digging into my shirt and shoving it up, pressing his slender fingers against my skin. His thumbs are caressing my stomach, pressing lower, dipping in my navel. I jerk a little bit in response, and he uses my temporary distraction to win the control over the kiss, shoving his tongue deeper into my mouth.

I grab the towel around his waist, pulling it off in one swift movement- I can do whatever he can, and I’m rewarded with a surprised moan. Duo doesn’t lose control over the kiss, though- when he’s got what he wants, he won’t let go until he decides to. His fingers travel lower, already working on my belt. I hear my own breathing growing erratic, and I barely refrain from moaning.

He brings his hand up, cups my face, forcing me to stay lip locked with him, stealing my breath. I’m getting high from the intoxicating kiss, the horny sensation of him rubbing me through the fabric of my pants while he’s stealing my air and pushing my throat back. Not one moment to soon, he breaks up the kiss and before I can gasp loudly for air, he shoves me onto the bed. I fall down on the thick comforter, drawing my legs up. With a tug at the towel around his head, the piece of cloth is discarded and his damp hair flows around his shoulders, the long strands spilling and coiling over his light skin.

“Duo..” I marvel. It’s light outside, our room is situated on the sunny south. It’s still afternoon and we’re supposed to discuss our plans for the mission. I’ve only managed to pull out my laptop and boot it up and Duo... Duo is distracting me, but dear gods, what a distraction. He places his hands on my knees, forcefully driving them apart.

“Heero.” He speaks my name, growling, almost guttural. The glint in his eyes is the promise of what he’s going to do to me- I won’t have any say in the matter. I lick my lips in anticipation, not in the least bit nervous; we’ve been partners for six years now, and the last five ones also sexually. It’s all too private to divulge, but let me tell you that I wasn’t the one with all the experience. We like to show for each other, but we even more like to pleasure each other. It’s not about who’s on top or who’s down below; as if we we’re ever the ones to follow stereotypes or guidelines. It’s about passion, lust, desire, love… and devotion, in any way possible. I throw my head back in the mountain of pillows, lifting up my hips a little to help him pull my pants off. The strands of his hair slide over my body and I reach for them, grabbing a hand full and bringing them to my face, smelling the cinnamon scent.

I moan loudly when I feel his warm mouth around me, one of the most intimate pleasures he can give me. My fingers clench around the strands of hair, and my other hand has buried itself in the sheets, knuckles already turning white. He doesn’t respond, just hums low in his throat, vibrating into every fiber of my body, mind and soul. “Duo, please…”

I let go of the strands of hair, grabbing him at his shoulder. I don’t want to be the sole recipient of this pleasure, and we share, we always share. Equality is the foundation of our relationship, and this.. this pleasure is too intimate, too personal to not to share.

He bats my hand away, signaling me that he wants to do this. My turn will come eventually, and it’s of no use arguing about it now. I lower my body back onto the comforter, grabbing hold onto his hair again, enjoying the sensations swirling through me. I can do nothing but helplessly moan when I feel his other hand travel lower and I know I’ll be the one crying his name, feeling him inside me, completing me, and sharing his every being with me.

----------------

“Knock knock,” he jokes and pokes me in the shoulder. I lift up my head, smiling when I see his violet eyes sparkle back at me. He’s fully dressed, hair in its braid, looking extremely sharp in his suit- it’s not quite a tuxedo, but classy enough to mingle between the circles of high society. I’m dressed in a similar suit, only the lapels are slightly different. Tonight Masterson’s hosting an informal dinner and even though we’re not on the official guest list, we both think Quatre can talk us in. It doesn’t really matter, as we need to scope out the premises anyway. We’re running on a deadline here, and every hour, no every minute, is valuable. Never mind our.. eh.. little interruption. I’m still wearing a smile, my “I-just-had-sex-and-God-was-it-good”-smile as Duo once christened it. He’s got his own way with words.

“I don’t have to ask who’s there, I can see you,” I answer him teasingly, and he grins. “What’s the plan?”

“We go to the informal dinner, where I will look around for the security measures and equipment, and you will work your mouth... only in another way than you’ve just shown me.”

I peck him on the cheek, eliciting a contented “Hmmm” from him. “Hey, you forgot completely to ask Quatre if Relena is around.”

“True,” I admit, “I’ll ask him as soon as I see him. I don’t think she wants to miss out on such a gala event.”

“Relena isn’t the one for this dressed-up travesty of gaudy crap?”

Like I’ve said, Duo’s got his own way with words. I show my most confident smirk and shake my head. “Relena will attend such travesty if she thinks she can get her message across. There aren’t nearly enough people convinced that peace is for their benefit, otherwise we would’ve been without a job.”

“I could always work as a paperboy.” Duo shrugs, obviously not seeing the problem. “She’s right, though, if she doesn’t want to attend- with all those air headed celebrities, she’d probably had to spell out the word ‘peace’ for them.”

“If she were to visit, she would want to talk to the politicians.” I turn a little, checking up on my laptop. It’s running a string search on the guest list, sifting it into several categories and looking up background information. I have my way with words as well, especially if I want to consult something in a governmental computer system. ESUN’s the overall organization, not the all-knowing one.

Duo musses my hair, pressing a little kiss on my earlobe before tying his bow tie and shrugging on his jacket. It’s time to get cracking, as Quatre ordered us to. The informal dinner will certainly help us get on our way. The knock on our door is certainly unexpected, and I move in front of the desk. Our room isn’t that luxurious that it disposes of a separate study, just like Quatre’s.

“One moment!” Duo hollers, flexing his fingers. We normally don’t carry weapons around- our body is our weapon. He prefers knives to guns, and has a wide array of both; but as Quatre was very adamant about this being a computer-related job, we didn’t bring anything but our standard gear. I know Duo’s brought his bunch of knives with him; his suitcase is just as secured as mine.

 

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Chapter 4 | Chapter 6