Elyndys 
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Disclaimer: *sigh * If anyone wants to sue me, they'll have to wait
till I've made my fortune from my bestseller.
Cumulative Rating:
NC-17
Pairings: 1+2+1/1x2x1; reference to past 1xR (Rx1?)
Cumulative
Warnings: AU, lemons; angst; shonen-ai and yaoi; language
Note: 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.
Important Note: 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…
Escaping Part 1
It rained.
Drizzly, shivery thin mists of rain that drenched
and froze what they touched.
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, nut remembering…
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 did – yet
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…
YOU did…"
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…"
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 peace – others *had
* died – but people abused it. They couldn't get used to stability; they
were so used to being too busy worrying about the war to commit crime –
and 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 done –
are 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.
Elyndys
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