"You who I called brother...
How could you have come to hate me so?
Is this what you wanted?"
--- The Prince Of Egypt
"The slums of L2 form souls into iron
And he's forged that iron to steel
Earth's been at the top of the heap for too long
And now it's our turn at the wheel."
--- RurouniTriv
Requiem for the Sinners Part 17
Empty Communion
"Quatre! Trowa! Long time no see! Well, for Trowa at least. I saw you at Christmas, Quat, but it was kind of a heat of the moment thing. Sorry I didn't have a chance to get reacquainted. Whose office is that, Tro? Yours or Quatre's? Nice decor. I'm impressed. It's dah-ling, just dah-ling."
The two former Gundam pilots looked away from the screen and at each other, exchanging glances, seeming to speak without words.
He's the same.
But he's not.
That's not Duo, it's Shinigami.
Duo broke the silence, as he had so many times in the past. "Since you guys called me, you could at least talk out loud. I'm not psychic." He looked at Quatre, a kind of furious knowledge in his eyes. Oh yeah, that look said. I thought so.
"I can't believe you still had my vidscreen frequency, Quatre. Seems you only want to talk to me when there's a war on, huh?"
Trowa felt Quatre tense beside him, and gently laid his hand on the Arabian's elbow, soothing him like an animal that means to bite.
He studied his former comrade carefully. Duo sat as casually as he usually did, one leg thrown gracelessly over the leg of the chair he sat in. He was dressed in tattered, wash-faded blue jeans with holes at the knees, and a tee-shirt that looked three sizes too big. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, slick as brown sealskin from a recent shower.
Despite the casual air, there was no mistaking the two men standing as still as statues slightly behind Duo, micro-Uzis cradled in their arms, or the pistol holstered at Duo's left hip, resting against denim that was almost bleached white.
Duo's grin, disarmingly charming, was as real as a three-dollar bill. Looking at him reminded Trowa of how a dog will wag its tail not only when meeting a friend, but right before going for someone's throat.
"How are you doing, Duo?" Trowa asked, his voice quiet and cautious.
"Fine, fine, doing great. Ships to run, wars to wage, all that jazz. I'm a general now, ya know. Big responsibility for a guy like me. How's it going on your side of the line?"
"We want to speak with Heero," Quatre interrupted, his voice frigid.
Duo feigned an expression of remorse so dramatic it was comic. "So sorry Q, Heero is indisposed at the moment. I'll tell him you asked after him, though. Sure he'd appreciate it."
"What about Wufei?" Quatre asked, eyes flashing. "Did you dispose of him, too?"
Duo laughed, and Trowa relaxed slightly, because there wasn't anything fake about it at all. The long-haired man smirked lazily at them, and drawled in a mock-Italian accent. "Yeah. Got sick of his rantin', so I whacked the catzarro."
When Quatre paled next to Trowa, Duo added quietly, "It was a joke, Quatre."
"Can we talk to him, Duo?" Trowa asked calmly.
"I'd let you if he was here, but I'm thinking he's probably on his way to you guys by now."
"What?" Quatre asked, the word clipped and harsh.
Duo shrugged nonchalantly. "What I said. Commander Chang is as free as a fuckin' bird. Should be showin' up pretty soon, if he's not too embarrassed about everyone seeing him in his boxers."
"What about the crews of the Perfidy and the Valkyrie? What about Commander Asano?"
"Holding up pretty good for greencoats," Duo answered Trowa casually, as if they were talking about the weather, not victims of hijack. "They're in good hands."
"What are your demands?" Quatre asked softly. His turquoise eyes blazed as he glared at the vidscreen.
Duo shook his head, still smiling a little. "Demands? Who said anything about demands, buddy of mine?"
"Why else would you take them captive, Duo?" Trowa asked.
The L2 general shrugged in that infuriatingly nonchalant way that had always driven Heero crazy. Live or die, the gesture said. What the fuck difference does it make to me? "Eighty-three less Preventers looking to put my head on a pike."
"Eighty-three Preventers whose families are wondering where they are, or if they're still alive." Trowa blinked, his expression blankly polite. But Duo could almost see the wheels turning behind those sparkling green eyes. "Are they still alive, Duo?"
"Want proof or somethin'?" Duo cocked his head, smirking a little, as if the whole situation amused him to no end. He looked over his shoulder at one of the armed men standing behind him. "Hey Paulie. Go bring me that girl from the holds. Dogtag says Chandler."
The man nodded once, his eyes flicking to the vidscreen for a second before he walked out.
Duo turned back to the screen, grinning. "One dose of proof comin' right up, my good gents."
After a few moments, the man ushered in one of the Preventer recruits from the Perfidy. The young woman's dark hair, cut in an efficient military bob, was damp with sweat. The angles of her pale face were sharp, and Trowa knew she had been refusing food... if it was being offered at all.
"Name and rank," Quatre asked, and Trowa was silently thankful that Quatre had sank back into a professional state, removing whatever emotions he was feeling from view. He face was expressionless, and his eyes were distant.
"Allie Chandler, Second Admiral of the Perfidy," the young woman replied curtly, her eyes flashing angrily as she glanced at Duo.
"Where is the Commander Wufei Chang?" Trowa asked.
The young admiral shook her head. "I don't know, sir. He was kept separately from us."
"And not one of you has been killed?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir."
"You've been given food and water?"
"Yes."
Trowa nodded to himself, and Quatre narrowed his eyes as Duo glanced at the man who brought the woman. He grabbed her by the arm and began to take her away.
Quatre fought to keep his voice even. "Duo, many of the soldiers from Wufei's fleet are barely eighteen. You can't have POWs, the Council hasn't declared war on L2 yet. You have to let them go."
"I know you think I'm an idiot, Quatre, but just how fucking stupid do you think I am?" Duo's sharklike grin never faltered. "Let's just say I send all of Wuffer's greenhorn camo-babies home like you so humbly suggest. What's gonna stop Noventa from shoving an armada up my ass, huh?" He shook his head a little. "Thanks, but no thanks, Quat. I think I'll play my cards close to the vest this time, if it's all the same to you."
"Hostages won't keep Noventa out forever, Duo," Quatre said, so softly his voice was almost a whisper. "Nothing will keep them out forever."
Duo leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles over the arm, head outstretched over one elbow. He acted as if he didn't hear, closing his eyes as if he was about to doze off, his movements made even more sluggish by the five-second satellite delay. "So what the hell did you call me for, guys? Surely not to just shoot the shit."
Quatre gritted his teeth, trying to hold his temper. If Duo had been standing in front of him, he would be tempted to shake the Deathscythe pilot senseless.
"You have to release the Preventers, Duo. We can't get you any help if you don't. Terrorists don't get to negotiate, but generals do," Trowa answered. He looked hard at Duo through the vidscreen.
Duo's eyes narrowed, and Trowa felt as if a rill of ice water trickled down his spine.
"Since when have you wanted to help, Tro?" Duo's voice was deceptively gentle. "You pretty much ducked out after the Waltz, yeah? I mean, you don't really have the authority to be making any kind of negotiations, now do you? And Quatre..."
Duo turned his head slightly, and even over the expanse of space between them, Quatre could feel Duo's eyes burning into his. "You knew that the colonies were going to get fucked over in the peace treaties. But thanks to the almighty Winner Enterprises, it hasn't hurt L4 too bad, has it?"
Despite his resolve to remain calm and detached, Quatre felt his cheeks burn; his hands were shaking in his lap, and he clenched them into fists to still the trembling.
"Just because I didn't come from a-"
"Enough." Trowa's quiet voice cut off Quatre's retort like a knife. Trowa glanced at his partner, his calm lion tamer's eyes warning. Whatever you were about to say, those green depths said, don't. Don't do it. Be still. So quiet and so still.
He flicked his gaze back to the screen. "Quatre is right. Noventa will blockade L2. You're outnumbered and outgunned, Duo. Hostages can only make things worse, and I've seen Noventa. As long as he can get at you, a couple of young Preventers and one arthritic old commander aren't going to be enough to keep him from coming at you."
"Outgunned?" The L2 general smiled brightly, and Trowa swallowed, feeling his palms begin to sweat. If it was one thing Duo had always been able to do, it was keep one step ahead of the game. Behind his mask of lighthearted stupidity, Duo Maxwell hid a mind as sharp as a steel trap.
And twice as deadly.
"You just leave Noventa to me and mine, buddy," Duo answered, that strange grin still on his face. "Anything else you guys want to discuss with me, Tro? I'm a busy guy these days. Seen any good movies? Mets win the World Series this year?"
When he was met with silence, Duo pulled his pistol from the holster at his hip, seeming to gauge the weight of it in his hand. It was a few moments before he raised his eyes back to the vidscreen. There was no humor in them.
"You can give Noventa a message for me, if you like. Or Quatre can, since he's more into that diplomatic bullshit everybody likes to call politics around here. For every twenty-four hours until the Council grants the colonies full independence-and everything that goes with it-I will kill one of these fine upstanding Preventer kids. I will release their names and ranks upon their execution. Starting now."
With a movement so gracefully swift it was eerie, Duo stood and pointed the pistol off-screen. When he spoke, there was none of the frivolous mischief of the thief Duo Maxwell in his voice. It was the steely voice of undeniable command.
Shinigami.
"State your name and rank again!"
"Please..."
"State your name and rank again!!"
"Duo, don't!" Trowa snarled, slamming his hand on the desk, helpless to do anything.
Duo didn't even look at the vidscreen. His gaze was concentrated fiercely off-screen, unblinking as a hawk. "DO IT!"
"I... Allie Chandler... S-Second Admiral... of th-"
The pistol cracked twice in Duo's hand, cutting the young woman's words off.
The lavish main office of Winner Enterprises was filled with thick, shocked silence.
The same silence hung in the office of L2's great general, over a thousand miles away.
Trowa's voice was hoarse when he could finally bring himself to speak. "What do you want, Duo?"
Finally, Duo lowered the gun, turning back to the vidscreen. "You know what we want. Quatre knows what we want. Everyone who doesn't live under a fuckin' rock between here and that bloody ball of dust Earth knows what we fucking want. We want to be free." Duo glared at the vidscreen. "If you don't know what I want by now, you come here, both of you. You come here and you find out."
"We can't give you that, Duo. None of us can."
Duo's gaze was cold. "Then put me on the phone with someone who can."
The cold hiss of static filled the office as the vidscreen cut to snow.
~*~
Duo walked over to where the crumpled body of the Preventer admiral lay on the cement floor. He ran a hand distractedly through his damp hair, unaware that the armed men around him were looking at him with mute awe and not a little fear.
"Whaddaya want us to do with her, boss?" Paulie ventured finally, his gruff voice soft.
"You two put her back in the holds with the others. Stop by Paradise when you have her secured and get Marge to go down there and take a look at her."
"She's gonna have a hell of a knock. Lucky if she ain't concussed. Fainted dead off, yeah?"
Duo shrugged, turning away towards the wall as the soldiers did as he said. He ran the fingers of his hand gently over the neat bullet holes in the plaster wall, a little less than a foot and a half apart. Above each shoulder, on either side of the head.
No wonder the chick fainted, Paulie thought with wonder as he grabbed the unconscious Preventer under the arms. I would have fuckin' pissed myself.
"Jack, grab her legs."
The other man lifted the young woman by the boots, then grabbed her under the knees, helping to distribute the weight. As he did, he realized that the only blood visible was a small smear on the grayish-white wall.
The general had shot so closely to her head he had clipped her ear.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the carpenter from Brooklyn Heights. The L2 soldier shuddered slightly, then shook it off, helping to carry the girl out.
Before they left, Paulie stopped.
"Gen..." Paulie started to speak, then stopped himself; the general hated to be called that. "Boss?"
"Hm?" The general answered without looking up at them. His arm was braced against the wall, his head lowered. He didn't just look tired, Paulie thought. He looked older. Older than he had five minutes before.
"You're a crack shot, boss."
"Hmph... yeah. Thanks. Regular Wyatt Earp, that's me."
The self-deprecating tone of the general's voice disturbed Paulie, even though the reference didn't mean anything to him; who the fuck was Wyatt Earp, anyway? He faltered, wondering what he should do.
Duo didn't give him time to deliberate over it. When they didn't make any move to leave, Duo walked back over to his chair and sank down in it, turning his back on them.
"Get her outta here. I'm tired."
As the door closed behind them, Duo spoke softly under his breath, flipping the vidscreen closed before resting his head in his hands.
"... and too old for this shit."
TBC...
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