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
Finally Une lifted her eyes, speaking in a strained voice. “He’s dead, Nancy.”
“Who?”
“Zechs.”
Noin paused for a moment, then smiled weakly. “Yes, he is, Une. I did it for us.”
“For us? Us?” Une retorted, bolting out of Noin’s arms and stepping out of the shower stall, dripping water all over the tile floor.
“Do you know that I held him while he died, Noin?”
“I…” the dark-haired woman’s voice trailed off into silence. She stared at her lover, stricken.
“And you know what the worst part is?” Une said, whirling around so her back was to Noin and wrapping a towel around herself. “He died asking for you! His last words were, ‘Noin, I love you.’ You, the one who killed him!”
Noin had paled visibly. She hovered naked in the shower stall, struck speechless. Une turned back to look at her, drawing closer and placing her hands on her shoulders. Leaning forward, Une whispered, “How could you do that to him? How could you kill a man you loved?”
Tears welled up in Noin’s eyes, but she bit them back, choking out, “For us.”
“For us?” Une smiled sardonically, wiping a strand of damp hair off Noin’s forehead.
“Tell me, Noin. Would you have killed me for Zechs?”
*~*~*
As the tall oak doors swung open, Dorothy squared her shoulders and lifted her head. Today was her day.
Damon led the way into the spacious parlor. It was decorated in shades of burgundy and gold, with a thick Oriental rug and various Tiffany lamps stood on small end tables by over-stuffed chairs. Running her eyes over the wall, Dorothy took note of several paintings, recognizing three Vermeers. Her grandfather was tasteful, to say the least.
They found the venerable old man seated at a large desk at the far end of the room. A half-empty decanter of brandy sat beside him, as well as several papers. His face had been handsome once, but now its wrinkles spoke only of a firm will and a love for the finer things in life. His gray goatee was impeccably groomed, and he wore a charcoal gray suit of similar hue. Even his skin had a grayish tint, Dorothy noted with distaste.
Seeing his son-in-law and granddaughter enter, the Duke lifted his eyes, smiling at them. “Damon, it’s wonderful to see you. Come say hello to your old father-in-law.”
Damon obliged the old man, crossing the room swiftly and bowing to give him a quick embrace. The Duke kissed either of his son-in-law’s cheeks and looked him in the eye. “How have you been, Damon? Are things going well for you and the other Catalonias?”
“Yes, my Duke,” Damon replied with an amiable smile, straightening up. “Our fortunes are doing better than ever, and Dorothy’s been receiving excellent marks in school.”
“Ah, Dorothy,” the Duke said, glancing at the blonde girl who waited patiently at the end of the room. “Come here so I can get a better look at you.”
Dorothy smiled, doing her best to conceal the contempt she felt for the old man that had denied her once. She crossed the room, stooping to kiss his weathered cheek, and straightening. “It’s nice to see you, Grandfather.”
“You’re the spitting image of Cecile when she was your age,” the Duke commented, looking at Dorothy. “Beautiful. Have you thought about a husband for her yet, Damon?”
Anger showed in Dorothy’s eyes, but Damon silenced her and said quickly, “No, my Duke. I’ll take it in for consideration. But that’s not why we came.”
“Well, why did you come? You never come so quickly just to pay your respects to an old man,” Duke Dermail commented, reaching into a wooden box on his desk and lighting a cigarette.
“We came with news concerning Treize, my Duke. He’s done something…unprecedented.”
“Has he, now? I would have trusted that Lucita would have brought me news of any infractions Treize committed. She’s been very good about that, you know.”
Just listen what to what we have to say, you stupid old man, and quit reminding us of how much more you like Treize because the daughter that gave birth to him is still alive. Dorothy thought, cheeks flushed red. She was seething.
Damon quietly laid the manila folder on the desk in front of the Duke. The Duke picked it up, flipping through it indifferently, then made a noise of irritation. “Credit card bills? Phone records? For God’s sake, I don’t care how my grandson plays in his free time. His profits have been excellent—that’s all I care about. What’s your point, Damon?”
Dorothy’s father sighed, and picked up the envelope, laying the copy of Treize’s marriage license before the Duke.
“He’s married without your permission, my Duke. To a girl named Relena Darlian.”
The Duke did a double take, sitting up and snatching the marriage license. “Treize did what? You don’t mean that Darlian girl, the one he took into custody after the Valparaiso raid?”
“That exact one, my Duke,” Damon explained, looking a bit weary. “Dorothy brought this to my attention yesterday—and I thought it was best we tell you immediately, and in person. This marriage has put the family—all of our families—in a great deal of jeopardy. After all, Treize is the one to inherit the Legacy, is he not?”
The Duke slammed his fist against the desktop, looking enraged. He pressed a com button to his secretary’s desk, demanding, “Make a phone call to Treize’s building in the city. We’re going immediately.”
As the old man stormed out of the parlor, leaving an exasperated Damon in his wake, Dorothy smiled. Things were going perfectly.
*~*~*
When Sally stepped back into the room and saw Trowa sitting up, she smiled. “I see you’re awake, Dr. Barton. I’m glad. We almost lost you.”
The mortician looked up at her and shrugged indifferently, pulling out the I.V. needle from his forearm. “Another transfusion won’t be necessary.”
Quatre frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving. And neither of you are going to stop me.” The brown-haired man swung his legs over the edge of the table, testing his balance, and then standing up gingerly.
Sally and Quatre shared a look, then Quatre said, “I’ll help you.”
“What?” Trowa glanced up at the blonde.
“We’re both leaving. I never liked working for Mr. Khushrenada anyway,” he smiled at the mortician cheerfully, grabbing an extra white coat from the coat rack in the corner and tossing it to Trowa. “Put this on. Running around with blood on your shirt would look terribly suspicious.”
Then Quatre pulled on his own jacket, buttoning it up. All the while, Sally was staring at them both. She raised a brow and asked, “What makes you think I’m going to let you two leave?”
Quatre smirked, tossing something at her. She caught it, and opening her hand, saw a key.
“That’s the key to the storage locker which has Dr. Barton’s supply of Type K, Sally. You know what to do with it.”
Sally looked at Trowa to see if he agreed to all of this. Quietly, he nodded, saying, “You’re welcome to it. If I don’t see another drop, I’ll be happy.”
She smiled, unsure of what to say. “Thank you, both of you. And…good luck.”
“You’re welcome,” the mortician said with a rare smile, taking the Quatre’s arm so he could lean on it. He was still weak in the legs from blood loss. “Oh, by the way.”
“Yes?”
“The secret to making the drug is the formaldehyde. That’s the ingredient you were missing.”
Sally snapped her fingers together. “I knew it! I knew the notes were missing something!”
Trowa smiled, then glancing at Quatre, nodded. “I don’t like you right now…but I need you.”
“I know,” the blonde answered, smiling. “Let’s go.”
~TBC~
Kira Maxwell
KiraxMaxwell@aol.com
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"What we do in life echoes into eternity."