Storm Clouds over Europe

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The strangest thing of life is… daily life. No matter how often we return from a mission, a dangerous one or a simple data retrieval one, there’s always a stack of bills and empty cupboards and dirty laundry waiting for us when we get home. It’s been hours since Duo crawled over the roof, well, knowing him; he probably just walked before he broke into the study. It’s been hours since the time-bomb has been planted that will bring down Masterson, in his disguise as a gallant philanthropist, meanwhile buying and selling information in the shadows of genuine markets, the kind of information that needs to be kept out of the daylight. It’s been only hours since I tampered with the cameras, cracked the man’s computer, downloaded and copied his files and gave the memory stick to Quatre, who probably has viewed the files by now. I only have to write a summarizing report and another report for Lady Une.

The first time when we returned home after a mission I got into a bit of trouble, finding it hard to deal with the ordinary things of life after I’d just witnessed deaths or a particularly painful event. How could I care about the right box of cereals when I’d run for my life only hours before? Duo could, and he still does. He can pick up the thread of life, doing household chores and going grocery shopping, minutes after the bullets have whistled past his head. It’s his survival instinct, the wisdom he learned and picked up during his life on the streets. I’m conditioned to return to a safe place -my home- after a mission ends, to cover up any tracks, write my mission reports and patiently await new orders. Ever since I’ve been with Duo and really have a home, this apartment, it’s different. The first thing that I did when I moved in - Duo came later - , I secured it from top to bottom with the best equipment I could find, and if I couldn’t find it, I built it myself.

This is where I feel at home. We both have our own methods of unwinding after a mission. With every passing hour, the vividness of the memories fades, and how we fall back in to that daily routine simply baffles me. I never comment on Duo starting to leaf through the bulk of mail, even sorting out the advertisement flyers with a certain glee, and he never comments on me checking all my security measurements I took to make sure this apartment, this home, this haven, stays safe.

Duo leaves me with his checkbook in hand, telling me he’s going grocery shopping. If there’s one thing I despise, it’s grocery shopping, and after we went a few times together, he told... no, he ordered me to stay at home. I just hate it, while he likes to check for new products and try every sample he can find… and he likes to use as many coupons as possible. It made me laugh the first time I witnessed it, but he shut me up with the look he threw at me. He absolutely refuses to throw money away, and that’s why he gets so upset with throwing food out, or discarding items when they can easily be used at least two or three times. Don’t get me wrong- Duo’s not a penny pincher, nor does he go into any preaching mode when he sees something he doesn’t agree with. It’s just normal to him- he’s not used to luxury, not used to the careless ‘throw-away’ mentality.

With Duo out of the home doing his grocery shopping business, I fire up my trusty laptop while I bustle about the apartment. I check my default security measurements. Nobody has entered our rooms while we were away. It’s hardly possible for a burglar to enter our grounds; I altered the alarm system and I pity the one who thinks he can outsmart me.

There’s a glass of cool water on the counter and I take a sip from it. There’s really nothing left in the fridge; even though we knew our Eastbourne mission would only take four days, traveling included, we left nothing behind. Efficiency.

The laptop beeps, indicating it’s completely booted and I sit behind the large desk. I always like to write my mission reports as soon as possible, as the memories are still fresh. I open the window of my word processing program, when I think back about that night. Do I mention in my report that Duo faced a security guard? And that he wasn’t spotted, miraculously? I know the answer before I even finish asking myself. Lady Une always calls my reports ‘brutally honest’ because she knows I never leave anything out of it, no matter whom I’m working with. I decide to brush over the topic as lightly as possible, leaving it up to Duo to come forward with his side of the story.

Shrugging, I change windows and take a look at the files I copied for Quatre. First things first, and that’s his requested summary of those files. I take a quick look at the data rolling over the screen and I whistle. It’s going to take me a while to summarize these properly- huge lists of addresses, names, bank accounts and activities... files on well-known politicians, famous celebrities, meticulously arranged. The name of the environmental politician we saw at the ball appears on the list as well and I wolf-whistle. Apparently, this man has received a whole lot of cash for allowing a well-known oil and gasoline producer to dump his waste in a nature reservation. My eyes grow increasingly wider while I continue to check the list. It’s a hornet’s nest, that much is for sure, and to my horror I recognize names of ESUN involved coworkers and agents. This man knows about us... not exactly us, the agents I do recognize are lower ranked, not really very experienced desk agents, not working in the field. This means Masterson gets information regarding ESUN-related cases, information he sells to the highest bidder, of course.

I narrow my eyes. If I’m not mistaken, I even see names belonging to the organization we were about to clear out, back in Prague. This man works like an octopus; his tentacles are reaching far and wide, and are duplicating by the day.

I’m still a bit baffled by this discovery when the vid-phone rings loudly. It’s more of a foghorn, really- both Duo and I tend to sink into concentration so much that we don’t hear the phone.

Reaching next to me, I press the button for both image and sound. “Yuy,” I say, noting that it’s a secure line, a line starting with a 4 and a very special code- Quatre.

“Good afternoon, Heero,” he greets me, voice rather clipped. It’s not the same voice he uses when he talks about a mission; it’s not the same voice as when he just holds a light conversation with us.

“Quatre, what can I do for you?” It must be about the mission- maybe he wasn’t able to read the memory stick, maybe something came up or he’s really anxious for the summary report?

“Is Duo there with you?” he asks. “I want to ask this of the both of you.”

“No, he isn’t, I’m sorry,” I answer. “He’s out. What’s the matter, Quatre? These lines are secured, you can talk freely.”

“I know,” he responds, and I straighten myself in my chair. It’s been a very long time since I heard Quatre Winner talk so agitated- something’s going on.

“Speak up,” I all but bark. I press the ‘record’ button of the vid-phone, for playback later.

“One of the security guards has been found dead,” Quatre says, face straight and composed. “I thought I told you both to handle this without killing- there was no need for killing. This was a simple data retrieval job only, and people were not to be harmed.”

“Nobody died,” I tell him. “Duo certainly didn’t kill anyone, or he would’ve told me.” I drum my fingers on the desk, my mind racing back to his strange encounter with the security guard in Masterson’s study. The camera blacked out, for just a matter of seconds- could he have used that short blackout to kill the man? I shake my head. Duo told me that there would be no problem, and if he’d killed someone, he would’ve told me… without a doubt.

“Heero, there was some panic this afternoon. First I heard rumors that one of the security guards was found unconscious; they thought he’d been drinking on duty and was sleeping off his hangover.”

“Interesting,” I murmur, still not seeing the point. “Why are you telling me? Duo’s the only one who encountered a guard in the study, but he didn’t kill him, wasn’t spotted, and made his way out of there undetected.” Why is Quatre looking at me like that?

“The situation changed when police officers and the coroner arrived and came running out of the room, throwing up the next second. Some of them fainted at the scene.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I was about to leave, after I had a small talk with a colleague of mine,” Quatre says. “Packed and everything, I have a schedule to keep up with. After I saw the coroner running screaming out of the room, I gave a quick call to the chief of police, voicing my concerns. He promised to keep me up to date and tried to reassure me that nothing happened. I left the mansion, and did some exploration on my own.”

My lips curl into a sly grin. Quatre hasn’t forgotten his skills. It’s so easy to forget what and who he was even though he’s not an active agent like us, he still is one of us- with the same skills and abilities.

The screen of the vid-phone changes, indicating that a file is being sent.

“I managed to get some pictures,” his voice sounds pretty distant. “Pilfered them from the first files of the case. I warn you, Heero, these are extremely nasty.”

When the files are downloaded the screen switches automatically back to Quatre again, who looks about to throw up. “Discuss this with Duo, and I await your report. I’m not accusing anyone, I’m not pointing in any direction. But this... this needs to be solved. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He signs off too fast for me to reply to him, and curiosity gets the better of me. Quatre’s not the one to get agitated like this- these pictures must be pretty nasty indeed. I click on the files, transferring them via the cable to my laptop screen. It only takes a few seconds to show them properly, and picture after picture begins popping up. I wish immediately that I hadn’t done that, and I need to suppress my gag reflex with all the energy I can muster.

“I’m hoooome!” Duo slams the door shut, and throws his jacket on a peg. “Heero!”

I hear him approach, he has a pretty fast pace, and he knows where to find me. The first room he visits when looking for me is my own study; the apartment is large enough to offer us separate studies. A bit of personal space that’s sometimes direly needed.

He sees me staring at a blank laptop screen, and he enters the room. “Heero? Groceries will be delivered in two hours, so everything will be stocked again. I bought lasagna for tonight… something the matter?”

“No, nothing,” I answer and he hears the robotic sound in my voice as much as I do. Duo isn’t the person to pry, either. We both respect our mutual personal space, and if we don’t want to talk about something, we don’t ask further. Self protection? Out of fear? Experience has taught us that eventually we start talking about it anyway. He knows something is wrong, but doesn’t ask.

“I’ll be in the laundry room,” he simply says and turns around. How am I ever going to discuss this with him? What’s happening? What’s going on?

My hand goes to the right side, picking up a few glossy pictures. I printed them out, for Duo to see. Quatre’s call has been recorded, so he can see it whenever he wants to. Later. Not now. Now I need to speak to him myself. I wait another fifteen minutes before I stand up. I have steeled myself enough for now. I hope. I walk over to our laundry room, the smallest room of our apartment. There’s barely enough space for the washing machine and the dryer, and Duo has put a large basket with black clothing on top of the dryer, sorting the clothes. He immediately stops his work, looking at me. I see the genuine worry in his eyes, those oceans... those pools of eyes, mirrors as they often are of his much older soul.

“Duo.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about our Eastbourne mission. Can you tell me again, please, what exactly happened in Masterson’s study?”

He frowns, though his body relaxes. Was he expecting worse? What was he expecting anyway? He picks up some clothing from the basket and starts folding it as if we’re discussing the weather or dinner tonight.

“A security guard came into the room, right after you warned me. He was about to catch me,” Duo says, folding another pair of black trousers. It’s one big pile of black clothing- I can’t recall the last time I saw him in his red shirt and grey vest. “I disposed of him, without him seeing me of course.”

“You disposed of him? How?”

“Sheesh Heero, what’s with all the questions?” Duo turns around, fingers crumpling a black shirt, face a bit distorted when he looks at me. “Do you doubt my work? I chopped him on his neck, hitting the nerves, and he slumped to the ground without as much as a sigh. Swift and easy, not dead, exactly as you taught and told me.”

He’s obviously irritated and his quick-defense irritates me in turn. He’s been quick to defend himself a lot lately, and I don’t know why it bugs me. Duo hardly ever needs to defend himself, because he’s good at his job.

“Duo, why are you lying?”

That gets an even more irritated reaction out of him. If there’s one thing you’ve got to be very careful with when accusing Duo, it’s lying. His eyes show venom, a quick flicker of pure malice when he addresses me.

“What?”

“You hid behind the 16th century divan, didn’t you? That’s what you told me.”

“I hid behind the fucking ugly divan,” Duo snarls, “but the man saw me when he went into the room. What was I supposed to do? He would’ve removed the modem if he’d spotted it, so I took him out! What’s the problem?”

“How were you so sure that night that the guard would be out for the whole night? You told me there was no problem. If you left the guard unconscious, that would’ve been a liability. Did you kill him?”

“I didn’t kill anyone! It was a data retrieval mission! The guard didn’t pose any danger!” He folds the piece of clothing I was convinced he was going to rip apart. Why does his voice hold irritation and anger? Duo’s not easily provoked to anger, not even when discussing missions. He’s not easy to rile, and he accepts criticism with grace. We often talk about finished missions. Comparing each others report, talking about what went wrong and what went well, input and output, sharing the experience.

“Explain this to me,” I answer him, refraining from snarling. I throw the pictures on the pile of folded clothes. Duo gives me an odd look, then picks up the pictures, slowly, eyes focused on me. He leafs through them, face turning pale with every one he sees. “Dear God in heaven, Father help us and have mercy on us…”

“I know it wasn’t you, Duo,” I say, voice soothing. “If you say you didn’t kill him, I believe you. But someone has killed him, and I wonder why this man had to suffer.”

“He was alive when I left him,” Duo answers me, voice hitching, and he stares at the pictures, horror written over his face, leafing through them again. And again. And again. His eyes are almost bugging out. His mouth is nothing but a tight line. It’s not everyday that you get to see such pictures. We have both seen a lot; dead people, killed on the battlefield, nasty wounds, ripped off limbs, blood and guts, the whole works. But pictures of a man sliced in two, from head to toe, were new to the both of us.

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Florence, Italy, AC 204

It’s 6 o’clock in the morning. Funny how I’m always awake before the alarm clock goes off. Second nature… some kind of instinct, or military drilling? I yawn, push the covers away, and swing my legs out of bed. If there’s one thing I’m not used to, it’s waking up alone. It’s so quiet and… empty. I can’t recall the exact moment that Duo started to rise earlier than me, only that it surprised me so much that it took me a month to get used to it. Duo was never someone to sleep in to begin with, but he always teased me about my habit of rising early, as early as the sun comes up. He used to have great pleasure in turning around one more time, hogging all the blankets, and making some smart-ass comment about ‘not waking up till later’.

I yawn again and stretch myself, arms above my head. Even though it’s early in the morning, the traffic outside is already responsible for quite some noise. Italians are hotheads when it comes to driving; not even Duo in any of his classic, self-restored cars is that impatient, ill-tempered or aggressive in regular traffic. Pulling the curtains aside, I take a look at the weather; if anything, it’s going to be a sunny day again. I look over the red roofs of the city; the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore with its characteristic bell tower an unmistakable landmark.

There’s a knock on the door. I appreciate punctuality, and Hotel Brunelleschi offers exactly what their guests want; if they desire breakfast at five minutes past 6, breakfast is served at five minutes past 6.

Entrare!

The door opens and a waiter comes in, pushing the breakfast cart in front of him. I remain standing close to the desk, my standard gun out of sight, yet easy accessible. There’s no need for paranoia, really- but we’re in Italy for a reason, and my line of work demands carefulness.

Buon giorno signore,” the waiter greets me, before pulling off the lids of the dishes. The food looks excellent to me, especially the selection of cut fruit. Duo will love the various offered pagnotta and cereals.

Grazie,” I answer, loosening up my rigid posture, but not enough to be completely relaxed. I notice a mauve envelope between the two largest dishes. “Scusare… la compressa?

The waiter looks a bit quizzically at me, and I curse once again my lack of language skills. I point at the envelope.

“Ah, the envelope!” He smiles. “Special delivery for you. Came this morning with your name!”

I take the envelope, looking at the front and back. Nothing strange.

Grazie.” I thank him again and give him a few Euros. The waiter thanks me in return and leaves the room. I open the envelope, pulling out a simple card. ‘Heero Yuy to Lady Une’s office.’

I stand with the card in my hands, feeling a bit overwhelmed. It’s an unusual request, coming straight from the Lady herself. Duo started referring to her like that, since we’ve been out of touch with her ever since the end of the war. The last time I spoke to her in person was… 6 years ago, and I doubt Duo’s spoken to her in his years since he joined the ESUN. Lady Une occupied herself with the organization of a peacekeeping force, the Preventers, after the Eve Wars were over. After forming and outlining the structure of the Preventers, -still a major force and generally regarded as the maintainers of the law instead of ‘common’ police-, she was recruited by the ESUN. I thought she was going to pursue a political career, or maybe even assist Relena when she assumed her late father’s office. I wasn’t even aware of Une working her way up in the ESUN; that wasn’t until Relena came to talk to me and convinced me to sign up for the special job she had to offer me.

Lady Une has ever been the one to report to, and I brief her by sending vid-mails and classified, coded messages. I wonder why she wants to see me in person… and not extending the invitation to Duo. Where is he anyway? The thought hardly flitters through my mind as the door opens again and Duo saunters into the room, a grin on his face.

“Heero, you should really try the pool. It’s heavenly!”

I notice his damp hair and close the distance between us, kissing him on the cheek. He puts his hand on my neck and pulls me closer. “I’d love to go skinny-dipping together.”

His husky voice so close to my ear always sends a shiver down my spine, and my lips curl; my Duo has so many ways to tempt me. His kiss is delicious, his touch is intoxicating, and his voice is… rousing. I turn my head a little, parting my lips to allow him to kiss me, again and again.

He kisses me, his warm lips against mine. I hardly notice where his hand’s going until it’s too late; he pulls the mauve envelope from my fingers.

“Is this for me?”

I suddenly feel guilty; his eyes sparkle with their usual life and vitality -maybe even a very small bit of naivety-, and a hint of curiosity. He has the card out of the envelope within the second, his gaze half directed to me because I don’t answer.

“What’s this?” He asks, and I don’t imagine the hurt in his voice. “Why are you ordered to go alone? We’re a team!”

“I don’t know, really,” I hurriedly say. “I saw the envelope this morning. It arrived with breakfast.”

Duo looks to the side, the cart an exquisite example of the best Italian food there’s to be found. “I see.”

He hardly spares a moment of attention to the pagnotta, his eyes traveling over the food and dismissing it the next second. He’s turned into a rather picky eater over the last months; for someone who used to eat everything, with great taste, it’s quite some change. I open my mouth to answer.

“Duo, they must’ve made a mistake. It’s probably something trivial.”

“Com’on, they don’t send you an envelope ordering you to report for something trivial,” Duo shoots back, his voice dripping with a rather venomous tone. I almost take a step back.

“You know I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I get back.”

“Whatever.” He pulls a few of the grapes from the fruits basket, and walks towards the large cupboard.

I don’t know what to say, and frankly my appetite for breakfast has disappeared. Duo has dropped the invitation on the floor, and I kneel to pick it up from the thick carpet. I straighten myself again, looking at Duo who starts pulling clothes out of the cupboard. I guess he’s going to change; he looks like any ordinary tourist, dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and ocean blue shorts.

“I don’t like it either, Duo,” I say, just to break the silence. Duo’s been silent a lot lately; sometimes sunk so deep in his thoughts that it takes him more than a minute to answer.

“It’s all right, Heero,” he says, taking the large shirt off and flinging it on the bed. I frown when I see him picking up a black shirt and pulling it on. I can’t recall the day when I saw him in another color than black, and it starts to irritate me more and more.

“What happened to your red shirt?”

He looks up, gaping a little at me. “Why the fuck are you talking about my red shirt?”

Now it’s my turn to gape. He just swore, in a simple conversation!

“Duo!” I don’t care if I sound patronizing. “I was just asking you a question. You don’t need to swear at me.”

He pulls the shorts off, kicking the garment across the floor. “I don’t have it anymore.”

It strikes me that he doesn’t apologize, and for some reason I can’t let it go. I take a step closer to him, urging myself to remain calm and composed, as his obvious lack of interest is aggravating me.

“Duo, you didn’t need to...”

A knock on the door interrupts us, but Duo doesn’t even bother to look up. He puts on his black jeans, working the belt through the belt loops and clasping the buckle.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” He sounds smug, and he doesn’t look at me. He knows I hate it when he doesn’t look at me, and there’s no time for me to wonder why he’s so… obstinate suddenly.

With the card in my hand, I turn around, facing the door.

Entrare!

It’s Chang Wufei- pilot 05 of the Shenlong Gundam, walking into our room. We haven’t seen him in years either, and contact has always been kept to a minimum. We respected his secluded lifestyle -according to Trowa and Quatre he wasn’t much in contact with them either-, but I know it has hurt Duo, not to mention annoyed me a little. That Chang Wufei was a loner was pretty clear to every one of us, but even a holiday or a birthday card isn’t too much to ask, now is it?

“Good morning,” he greets the both of us, immediately looking at me. “Yuy, you’re coming with me.”

“Wufei, my man, why am I not invited?” Duo’s voice holds some strain, and he doesn’t mask it.

“Une has only invited Yuy, and I’m here to escort him to her,” is his simple answer. Efficient and right to the core of the matter at hand, that’s Chang Wufei. The years haven’t changed him much physically; I imagine he’s still keeping up with his rigid karate training, or whatever martial arts he has learned. There’s not a gram of fat to be found on his rigid body, and he doesn’t look older in the slightest; composed and calm, everything under control. The fire in his eyes seemed to have dimmed a little, or I’m no longer able to read between the lines; Wufei looks relaxed, yet able to react within a second.

“Fine. Like I fucking care,” is Duo’s answer, the last part mumbled, but loud enough for me to hear and I cringe. I’ll have to talk to him about it later; I’m honestly really curious to why Lady Une has sent for me.

Wufei eyes the breakfast cart, immediately noting that nothing is out of order. “You haven’t finished yet.” Not a question, but a reproach. For a slight moment his superior attitude angers me, but I suppress it; it’s Wufei and he’ll never change, apparently.

“I’m finished. We can go.” I walk over to the chair behind the desk and pick up my jacket. I probably won’t need it because of the rapidly increasing day temperature, but it’ll cover up my gun. I want to say goodbye to Duo, but he has pointedly taken up residence in the bathroom; I can hear him gargling with mouthwash. Without heaving a sigh, I shrug into my jacket and move away from the desk to follow Wufei.

He’s dressed in linen, both his pants and jacket in the same sandy colors. His shirt is the same cobalt blue as I remember from the tank top he used to wear; I smirk a little, having expected half and half and embroidered dragon on the front. Wufei doesn’t pay attention to me, leaving the room as silently as he arrived. I pocket the key -Duo has the other one- and take a few large steps to catch up with Wufei.

He pushes the button for the elevator.

“Do you know what this is all about?”

“Yes I do.” He doesn’t look at me. “I understand Maxwell being pissed, but it’s better he’s not present at what Une has to say to you.”

I rack my brain for possible things she’s going to say to me, my mind rapidly weighing scenarios. Maybe she wants to break us up, team-wise, maybe she wants to promote me and not Duo... nonsense! We deliver great work as a team, we hardly fail a mission and if we do, it’s always due to unexpected circumstances, ones we couldn’t have possibly any influence on.

I’m not afraid- if Une wants to argue with me, I’m prepared. I can disprove anything she’ll say. I’m the one who documents his reports extensively, I have a very good memory and the mistakes I make, I can explain. Still, something is settling in the pit of my stomach- nerves, I keep telling myself. If I fear her… why should I fear her?... I’m going to fail. Wufei isn’t really helping me with his admission that he knows what it’s about, but not divulging anything. Understandable, though; we’re out in public. The elevator arrives and takes us down to the lobby, attendants keeping a close eye on us should we need anything.

I know Wufei doesn’t appreciate small talk about how much I like the efficiency of the hotel, and I’m certainly not going to tell him that it sometimes feels really good reveling in all the attention and luxury when you live your whole life in an average apartment. We’re too often away to get bored by the apartment or even go looking for something else; missions have been frequent lately, and we’re not into home decoration anyway. Duo has bought things for the apartment before; a funny lamp, framed paintings, an extra plaid for over the couch. I can’t remember the last thing he bought; most of the times we need our free days to catch up with ourselves, and not to busy ourselves with meaningless shopping for our home. Still, it’s our home… we really should give it some more attention, to create more the feeling of ‘home’.

Strange, those things that run through your mind if you’re not really certain what’s going to happen.

I step into the car, the door’s already opened for me, and Wufei takes the passenger’s seat. I have caught myself in rather bizarre thought just before a mission was about to begin, or a particular delicate situation had come up. I need to clear my mind and focus. I want to know why Lady Une has sent for me, and why she’s sent Wufei to ‘escort’ me… and why Duo wasn’t invited. That’ll be the first question I’m going to ask her.

I look outside the window, the awakening city bathing in the glow of the rising sun. The yellow of the sun mingles with the bright red roof tiles; the orange tints a wonderful sight and challenge for any painter. The traffic is picking up by the second; I hear several horns and yells. It’s not my problem; this car is almost soundproof. It’s not my world.

We halt in front of a convention center, and Wufei motions for me to follow him. He’s been silent all the way, and I’m a little disappointed; I really expected him to say at least more than just those few words to me, even if it was only some small talk. He treats me like we haven’t been through all those times together- I don’t want nor expect him to fall in my arms to reminisce about the war days, but we share a past. A past of Gundams and terror, a past of tears and choices. A large sign welcomes us, announcing that a “porcelain and pottery” fair is held on the second floor. The young woman approaching us wants to give us some flyers, but she’s dismissed with a sharp movement of Wufei’s hand.

The nerves in my stomach have settled at least, giving way for some irritation and curiosity. I follow Wufei through the large hall, our footsteps clearly audible on the tiles. Finally, he turns to the left and descends the stairs. It almost amuses me. It’s like something out of a B-movie: the headquarters of an international organization in the basement. I refrain from chuckling, still following Wufei like an obedient dog. Two men are at the foot of the stairs and he shows them some kind of pass. They salute for him and allow us to pass. The same ritual repeats itself thrice before we reach the room at the end of the hallway.

“We’re here,” Wufei curtly announces and the two men in front of the doors nod, stepping to the side. He opens the doors, revealing the contents of the room to me- an immensely large table, lined up in a quadrant, surrounded with chairs; with Lady Une in the middle. She rises from her chair as she sees us.

“Heero. Welcome.”

I walk towards her, as she’s extending her hand to me. I accept her hand, giving it a firm shake before retreating. “Thank you,” I answer, voice steady.

Lady Une hasn’t changed that much either- I remind myself that she’s not that much older than me or Duo. Her features are far more mature and aged, in a certain aspect, giving her an elderly appearance without the physical characteristics. She shows authority in a non-tyrannical matter; this is a woman to respect and to reckon with, if only for her piercing look. I know she’s appraising me; I feel her eyes on me, x-raying me with all her military and executive experience. Her demeanor is so very different from Relena’s; where the latter still appears girlishly and slightly naïve, Lady Une shows toughness and a wall built up from real life- and maybe that’s why she didn’t pursue a political career. She’s perfect for the job as head of the special ESUN forces, the department that doesn’t exist with employed agents who don’t exist either, but who keep the fragile threads of peace together as spiders in a web, and Lady Une is our Queen.  

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Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 |