Type K: Part 20
by Kira Maxwell
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise, not me. I don’t own the G-boys, so please don’t sue me. You wouldn’t get anything anyway.
Warnings: Yaoi, Yuri, Het, Drug abuse, Gore, Strong language, NCS, Violence
Pairings: 13xR, implied 1x2, 3x4, 5+R, 9x11
Dedicated to: Damion, and the readers
Notes: The Fic That Will Not End is getting closer to ending...hopefully. Thanks to all the readers whose feedback I've gotten over the months it's taken to post this fic. Writers love feedback, praise, and criticism. I've gotten all three. Thanks and love to you all.
The ride to the Duke’s house only took a few hours. The Catalonias’ limousine passed through the brassy front gates and up a long gravel road that led to the main manor, a stone affair that Dorothy had always found horribly dreary, yet authoritative all the same. Damon sat in the seat next to his daughter, his lips pursed into a thin line. The manila folder holding Treize’s marriage license was clenched in one hand in a white-knuckled grip. He looked like a man with very heavy thoughts on his mind.
After the limousine stopped, Dorothy and her father were escorted straight to the Duke’s office, even though they usually stopped in a bedroom to freshen up. Dorothy had done all the freshening up she needed in the car, and Damon’s urgency didn’t permit him to think of pausing.
As they waited outside of the Duke’s parlor to be admitted, before a pair of towering wooden doors, Damon said to his daughter in a low tone, “Dorothy, despite your glee, don’t speak. The Duke will not listen to you. Let me talk to him first, and then you might have a second to say what you like.”
Dorothy’s head snapped up, and she looked at him, back rigid. “This was my find.”
“And you are a woman. He would not listen,” Damon replied, in a calm tone that maddened his daughter. It was all she could do to still her tongue.
*~*~*
Une rose to her feet, frowning at her blood-streaked clothes. She would have to go change now. Hesitantly, her eyes slipped to the corpse of white-haired man. It didn’t matter what happened to him now. He was dead, and his problems were over.
Hers had just begun.
She slipped out of the room, sending two guards to clean up the mess, and went straight to the bedroom she and Noin shared, shimmying out of the bloody clothes and throwing them on the floor. Une felt dirty inside and out, disgusted with herself. Her first instinct was to bathe, so she headed to the bathroom at an almost-run. She jimmied the shower knob, not bothering with the cold water, and stumbled into the stall, yanking the curtain back and slumping down against the tile wall.
Sweet Jesus. What was wrong with her?
The hot water hissed against the cool tile walls, and the steam billowed up in hazy clouds, shrouding the bathroom. Une was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear the bathroom door open, the sound of cloth hitting tile, or footsteps on the bathroom floor.
She didn’t know Noin was there until the curtain was abruptly pulled back, interrupting her reverie.
Une’s head snapped up, and she was silent as Noin slipped into the stall next to her and sank down on her knees, taking the brown-haired woman’s face in her hands. Noin lifted Une’s chin, looked down into her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Une just stared at her for a while, then pulled free of Noin’s grip and looked away.
“What the hell? Une, what’s wrong with you? Talk to me.”
“No.”
Noin sighed deeply, and put her hands on Une’s shoulders.
“Darling, what’s wrong? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”
Une stiffened beneath Noin’s grip, turning to look at her. “You couldn’t fix it if I did tell you.”
*~*~*
Relena lay still for several minutes, and then she lifted herself up, sliding out from under Treize’s weight. She wasn’t surprised when she heard a snore.
“Men,” she muttered under her breath, fixing her skirt and tucking her blouse back in. After she’d slipped her shoes back on and straightened herself up as best she could, she decided to leave. Let Treize clean up his own mess.
Stepping out into the hallway, she startled the same two guards as she had on her way in. They looked at her nervously, both of their faces flushed and embarrassed. Having an idea, she snapped at them, “What are your names?”
“A-Alex,” one stammered.
“Mueller,” the other added hastily.
Relena smiled at them sweetly, smoothing back her hair and then tilting her head. “Well, Alex, Mueller, tell me something. Do you work for Mr. Khushrenada?”
They both nodded.
Relena smirked, running a finger down Alex’s chest. “You work for me, too.”
“What?” Alex asked, confused.
“I am Mrs. Khushrenada, yes?”
They both nodded again.
“My authority is the same as my husband’s. So do as I say.” Relena’s hand slipped lower on Alex, and he tensed when he found his own gun pressed hard against his belly.
“Got it?” Relena asked sweetly, cocking the pistol.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Good. Now, back at attention, boys.” Alex’s eyes widened a little as Relena shoved the gun into the front of his waist band, still cocked, and walked away, cheerfully whistling.
He’d have to be very careful removing it.
Relena paused and blinked as a couple of guards hurried past, holding something long between them. It looked like…well, a body, swaddled in a dark blanket. An edge of the blanket slipped down, and she froze, seeing a face that was all too familiar. One of the guards quickly tugged the blanket closed, and the turned the corner, out of sight.
It took several seconds for Relena to resume breathing. Under her breath, she whispered, “Zechs?”
~TBC~
Kira Maxwell
KiraxMaxwell@aol.com
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On to Part 21!