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Left Unsaid	By : ElleSmith Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male > Heero/Duo Views: 1020 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: GUNDAM WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 03: UFD
Lower Manhattan Hospital's emergency room was the single and therefore most hectic ER in the downtown area. Close to 35,000 patients passed through it emergency department annually, brought in by countless ambulance transports rushing in one after the other. Its hallways were constantly bustling with human traffic; a sea of people flooding the waiting rooms and corridors no matter the time of day. The ER's waiting room was the fullest of them all. The sick and injured waited impatiently to be admitted, while nervous family members paced the crowded room as they waited for an update about their loved ones.
Four vending machines provided snacks, sandwiches and beverages to the many occupants of the ER's waiting room. Preventer agent Merida Shaw, currently off duty and henceforth dressed casually, stood before one such machine, staring numbly at its colorful content. Her red hair was a mess, after being gathered hastily into a high ponytail that was barely holding together. Long red bangs framed her pale unmade-up face, curling towards her freckled cheeks. She was dressed sloppily in black sweats and a tattered purple ski coat – evidence of how she had rushed out of her apartment in a hurry. Completely oblivious to the clamor and commotion raging behind her, she stood still for minutes long, gawking dazedly at a green packet of Skittles inside the machine.
Echoes of the phone call that brought her to the ER late at night still resonated in her ears. The panic, distress and desperation whispered breathlessly through her cellphone played repeatedly in her head. She hasn't known her new partner for very long, only a few weeks now, but she never expected this from the desolate, composed and guarded person she had gotten to know thus far. It was shocking... an utter surprise. She hadn't thought that he trusted her enough to call for her aid, and maybe that was why she was unable to get his distraught words out of her head:
'Merida...' he had rasped, panting heavily; 'I— I can't—' he inhaled a sharp gulp of air; he couldn't breathe. '—can't—! Please!'
He was in no condition to give a 911 operator any details and no time to wait until they located his call. He had no one else to call, so he called her. She didn't think twice, grabbed her coat, wallet and keys, jumped into her black SUV and raced down FDR Drive from Midtown to East Village in record time. She was at his place in less than ten minutes. The door was locked and he wasn't answering. She kicked the damn thing open and rushed inside. She found him lying on his living room floor in his under garments, struggling for air, his right arm clenched around his left. The TV was on; some newscast was playing, but she didn't pay it much attention. She hurried to get him to the hospital straight away.
"Are ya gonna get somethin' or are ya just gonna stand in my way?" an irate and gruff male voice muttered behind her. Merida blinked, torn out of her daze, and turned to look over her shoulder. An old man was waiting behind her, scowling irately.
"Uh, sorry," she mumbled and turned back to the machine. It was the only one to carry salty snacks and candy. She pulled a few coins out of her coat pocket, inserted them into a slot and punched in the necessary code. The machine hummed as it came to life and a green pack of Skittles was dispensed into the compartment at the bottom. She hurried to take it and move away.
She found an empty seat at the back of the waiting room and settled there. For a moment she stared at the colorful Skittles packet before shoving it into her coat pocket, having no real interest in eating it. She didn't even know why she bought it. As she reached into her pocket, her fingers brushed by another object already tucked in there. She pulled it out; it was Heero's smartphone. She had found it lying on the floor next to him where he had collapsed. For a dull moment, she stared at the sleek device. A cellular phone was an individual's shrine; sacred. Sifting through its contents was a blunt invasion of privacy, and yet before she knew what she was doing her finger had already slid across the screen to unlock the device. A second later she was staring at the default wallpaper and application icons on the main screen.
Feeling the need to hide her wrongdoing, Merida hunched forward and held the smartphone close. It was stupid, really, because as far as anyone around was concerned (if at all) – the device was hers. Only it wasn't. It was Heero's and examining it was wrong, no matter how curious she was about her mysterious new partner.
Then why was she suddenly looking at his call log?
Because she was stupid, that's why. She was stupid, curious and dying for a peek behind the stoic enigmatic mask worn by the man she was forced to work with. So she looked. What harm could it possibly do?
The latest call was an outgoing call – to her. That she already knew. The previous one was an incoming call – from 'Her'. She clicked on the contact name and a secondary log opened, registering all the calls received from Her. The last one was at 21:13 that night and it had lasted close to seven minutes. Next were over ten unanswered incoming calls. The log didn't register any other calls Heero had accepted from Her; either there were none, or they were too long ago. There were no outgoing calls either, meaning she was always the one to call him.
Merida could only speculate about the identity of the mysterious lady known merely as 'Her'. She wondered if Heero's episode had anything to do with finally taking her call. They spoke for quite a while, at least in Heero's terms, so perhaps there was a connection? What could they have possibly spoken about that caused him to collapse?
Curious, she accessed his contact list. All of the numbers were clearly work-related. The only name that stood out as an exception was 'Her'. She entered the photo gallery next, hoping to find some clues there.
There were only two folders stored under the gallery: one for camera photos and the other for downloaded images. She entered the camera folder first. Not surprisingly, it was filled with images he had taken at various crime scenes. There were no personal photos of any kind.
Next she entered the Downloads folder, where images received via text messages, emails and chat apps were stored. She was surprised to see over two dozen photos inside, dating as far as AC 201. They were all photos of a little girl; an adorable blue-eyed and dishwater-blonde haired toddler, her hair leaning more towards light-brown than blonde. She was somewhere between 18 to 24 months old, depending on when the photo was taken. She was a sweet little thing, an endearing vision in pink, always smiling at the camera with a pair of rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. In one photo she was dressed in cozy winter attire, standing in a green park and holding a red balloon; in another photo she was seated on a toddler's chair in a café, dressed in a colorful summer dress and eating chocolate ice cream, her chubby face smudged with chocolate; another photo was of the little girl standing on the rim of a large stone fountain, throwing breadcrumbs at pigeons. The photos went on and on, capturing images of the little girl in all sort of everyday activities. Judging by the architecture in the background, the photos were taken somewhere in Western Europe.
The last few photos, however, were taken in the US, in Washington DC to be exact. Merida recognized various monuments in the background, like the Capitol Hill Parks or the Lincoln Memorial. The last two photos were taken during Christmas. The girl was posing in front of the famous National Christmas Tree at the White House. The next photo was taken at the Pathway of Peace surrounding the area. The little girl was standing in front of a small Christmas tree and holding a colorful ornament in her hand, grinning merrily at the camera. The next photo was taken in front of the famous green-domed National Museum of Natural History building. The small toddler was standing next to one of the massive Corinthian columns leading to the entrance, dressed in a thick pink winter coat and her long dishwater-blonde hair braided into two adorable pigtails. Heero was kneeling before her, tying her shoes. He was dressed casually, out of uniform, his head bowed down low as his fingers knotted a shoelace. The little girl was looking down at him shyly. It seemed that the photo was taken without him being aware of it. The photo was dated December-24-202; the girl couldn't have been more than three years old.
Merida switched to the next picture. This time, it wasn't of the little girl. It wasn't a photo at all, but some kind of document. It looked like a screen-capture image of some official file that was downloaded into the folder. She zoomed in a bit so she could read the writing. It was a police service record and it belonged to someone named Duo Maxwell, an L2PD cop. He was a young man, she assumed around Heero's age, meaning he was a couple of years younger than her. His long light-brown hair was gathered backwards. His handsome features were round, yet harsh. A soft smile seemed like it would suit his face better, though his expression was far too grim to support that claim. He was scowling at the camera with a pair of angry cobalt eyes, looking quite daunting. He reminded her of Heero.
She frowned, confused by the strange image, and flipped to the next image. There were none; she was back to the first photo of the little girl standing in the park with a balloon. She switched back to the last photo, the one of the L2PD file. It was dated December-17-204; it was received sometime today.
"Agent Shaw?" a deep male voice called her name and Merida looked up. A middle-aged doctor wearing a white lab coat and golden eyeglasses was standing by the vending machines, scanning the crowded room in search of her. She stood up, tucking Heero's cellphone into her coat pocket.
"I'm here," she said as she approached him. They met halfway.
"How is he?" she asked.
The doctor scanned the room once more before turning to face her. "Are you here alone?"
"Yes," she confirmed; "No family, just me. We work together."
The man nodded and sighed tiredly. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean with his white coat.
"Well, his blood work came back OK," he explained wearily; "He suffered an acute anxiety attack, not a cardiac event. The symptoms are similar, but the prognosis is not the same."
She nodded, relieved. "So he's alright?"
"Given his medical history, we'll keep him overnight for observation. We'll run another EKG in the morning just to be safe and if everything turns out okay he'll be out of here by noon."
"Can I see him?"
"We gave him a sedative, so he's deep asleep. You can come by in the morning."
"I'll be quick," she promised and reached into her pocket to pull out Heero's phone. "I just have to leave him this," she explained with an apologetic smile.
The doctor nodded. "Internal Ward, room 312 – third floor. Be quick," he requested and turned to leave. She nodded in thanks and went to search for the room.
It was a single room, affordable thanks to Preventer's excellent health plan. The small room was dark, only a small dim light illuminating the hospital bed in its center, where Heero lay on his back, covered by a blanket. He was sleeping.
Merida entered quietly and closed the door behind her. She hesitated before approaching the bed, feeling awkward. She really didn't know him well enough to be paying a visit to his hospital room while he was unconscious, but he was her partner and she had some level of responsibility towards him whether she wanted it or not.
She stepped closer to the bed, threading carefully as though stepping on holy ground. She pulled his smartphone from her coat pocket, along with the green pack of Skittles, and placed them on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. For a moment she stood there and studied his blank face, slack and oblivious in slumber. He seemed so much younger compared to when he was awake. His severe temperament and tough exterior made it easy to forget that he was only in his mid-twenties. A young man pushing twenty-five shouldn't be nearly as daunting as he was, yet it wasn't uncommon to meet such young men these days. The war had left many scars, some still visible in the eyes of the young man and women who lived through it. A quick calculation suggested that Heero would have been far too young to have taken part in the fighting; he was only in his teens when the war ended. Looking wretchedly at his lifeless expression, she wondered what else could have caused him so much grief. What horrors hid in his past? What secrets tormented his soul and hardened his heart? What had hurt him so badly that he could not handle a woman's phone call?
Merida sighed and shook her head, trying not to think about it. Whatever it was, she felt sorry for him. And with that grim thought, she turned on her heels and left the room.
*     *     *
The next morning, Heero lay half naked in his hospital bed, a blanket covering him up to his navel as he stared dully at the ceiling. A nurse was leaning over him, connecting electrodes across the center of his well-toned and scar-ridden chest. She then turned to activate an EKG monitor standing on a portable cart by the bed. The machine came to life with a low beep and immediately started registering a pulse. A needle moved rapidly up and down a roll of graph paper, printing a stable waveform. Once she confirmed that the electric activity was registering correctly on paper, the nurse turned to Heero.
"I'll be back in forty five minutes," she promised; "Try to relax," she added with half a smile and then left the room.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Heero leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He turned to face away from the door and tried to get some sleep. He had just dozed off when the sound of the door clicking shut again registered somewhere along the boundary of a dream. He gasped quietly, startled awake, and turned his head towards the sound. His mouth opened slightly agape with surprise when his gaze fell upon the young woman who had just entered his room.
"Relena?" he whispered her name in a raspy, tired, voice. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm still listed as your emergency contact," the young blonde woman explained quietly as she approached his bed. She was dressed in an elegant black business suit hugging her feminine curves; her long blonde hair was gathered up in a tight and stylish high ponytail and her face was made-up immaculately. She was holding a small bag in her hand, which she placed on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. There was an open green packet of Skittles resting on the chest, along with a smartphone device.
"The nurse mentioned that you're going to need some clothes," she explained as she dragged a plastic chair forward; "I stopped by your place, got you some things," she elaborated and settled into the chair. She straightened a few wrinkles on her black dress pants, ironing the fabric down by brushing her French-manicured hand over her thigh. "I told the landlord to hurry up and fix your door," she added, looking up again.
"Thanks," Heero whispered blearily and she nodded in acknowledgment. A long and awkward silence fell. Heero turned to study the white ceiling. Relena gazed numbly at his bare torso. There was much scar tissue there; traces of an old gunshot wound on his right upper arm, a jagged scar running across the left side of his chest, sneaking up to his armpit and a long, neat surgical scar splicing his torso from his throat, down to his chest and across his muscular abdomen. Her eyes focused on the scar, gawking at it unblinkingly until they watered.
The EKG needle continued moving slowly up and down the roll of graph paper, printing a black waveform. Up and down... up and down... in a steady rhythm. The long sheet of paper dangled from the machine, piling on the floor in a twisted heap.
Finally, Relena spoke again:
"I'm just gonna go ahead and say it:" she declared with a disheartened sigh; "You're not ready for this."
Heero heaved a sigh of his own. "It's been two years..." he murmured weakly and turned to stare at the opposite wall where a window offered a limited view of the city; "I have to get back out there some time."
"No, you don't," she insisted firmly. "Not like this, not anymore. You've done enough... been through more than enough... why do you keep doing this to yourself?"
"You never slowed down..." he accused spitefully, turning his head back around to glare at her viciously; "What's that I read about you planning to run for ESUN presidency?"
Relena cast her gaze down, avoiding his harsh blue eyes. "The media puts words in my mouth all the time," she explained quietly; "I said that I might think about it one day, that's all." She looked back up, her own eyes shining fiercely. "I don't have to make any apologies for my career," she hissed; "Not to you... not anymore. We're talking about you now," she hurried to change the subject; "I thought you were done."
He stared at her blankly for a moment before blinking and then lowering his eyes. "I'm fine," he mumbled dejectedly.
"I can see that," she scoffed; "Heero – you are not fine. You'll never be fine..." she murmured more softly, sighing; "and that's okay. I know you're trying, but why do you insist on choosing the hard way? You have nothing to prove. Stop punishing yourself. Just... just stop it. It's pointless. It doesn't atone for anything... you're only hurting yourself."
The monitor beeped, signaling a spiking increase in Heero's heart rate. The EKG needle moved faster, registering his speedy pulse. He raised his head back up, his eyes searching for hers. He met her unforgiving gaze with a pair of abashed Prussian blue eyes.
"Lena, please," he whispered miserably; "they won't let me out of here if the EKG shows any irregularities. Can't this wait?"
"I'm leaving back for DC in a few hours," she hurried to say; meaning that it couldn't. This was just a courtesy call after all. Heero nodded in understanding and turned away, back to staring numbly at the opposite wall where the window overlooked a busy Lower Manhattan street.
"Why couldn't you have stayed in Cyber?" Relena asked after a momentary pause. "You can make a contribution there too. There are other ways you can make a difference. It doesn't always have to be this dangerous. You should have taken the psych-pension they offered you and got out while you still could. Most people can only dream of hitting the jackpot with that pension."
"Retired at twenty-three?" Heero exclaimed offensively; "I don't think so."
"Considering you got started before you were even ten – I don't see how that's so unreasonable," she argued; "You should cut your losses and get out while you still have your whole life ahead of you. Surely there are other career paths you can pursue."
"I am not discussing this with you again," he grunted irately.
"Heero—"
"They need me on this case."
"Why? Why you? What the Hell do you have to do with any of it? You don't have the training to be investigating violent crimes! What's going on? I'm sure that there are plenty of talented Preventer agents out there who are far more qualified for this job! Jesus, after all that happened they're still gonna—"
"Lena," he warned, turning to scowl at her angrily; "That's enough," he warned coldly; "I am not going to discuss this with you."
She leaned back into her chair, shoulder slumping resignedly.
"Is it true what they say? Is it some kind of terrorist activity rather than serial murders?"
Heero didn't answer.
"There's a connection between the victims, isn't there?" she speculated warily; "Something that got Preventer's attention... some kind of threat to national security?"
"I can't say."
She nodded in understanding. Her eyes shifted towards the growing pile of graph paper forming at the foot of the EKG machine. Looking up, she followed the needle as it moved across the roll of paper. She sighed and turned back to look at Heero. He was staring broodingly at the ceiling again.
"You know they will pull you off this case after tonight," she stated quietly; "You're still on probation, aren't you?"
"They wouldn't dare."
"Why not?"
Heero turned to the window and stared at it dazedly for a moment.
"It's too late now..." he mumbled and Relena's face paled with concern.
"Are you in danger?" she whispered dreadfully.
"I'm... I'm fine," he assured her, never turning away from the window. "It... it'll be fine."
"You don't sound too sure."
Heero closed his eyes sadly. Relena watched him mutely for a moment, her blue eyes shining worriedly. She stood up and stepped closer to his bed, taking his limp hand in hers. She caressed his hair gently with her other hand, brushing her fingers through his messy bangs. He turned to her, opening a pair of turbulent blue eyes only she knew how to read. She smiled wistfully.
"Come back with me to DC," she whispered; "Just for a while. Take some time off. Not just for her birthday... Stay until Christmas is over."
For a moment he was quiet, thinking, his eyes shining sorrowfully. "I can't," he rasped and looked away uneasily. He felt her hand tighten around his.
"Then I'll stay here," she declared stubbornly and he shook his head.
"No you won't," he mumbled and she looked away uncomfortably. She studied the view out the window, her eyes scanning the tall building on the other side of the street. A couple was arguing heatedly on a small fire-escape balcony at the side of the building. She sighed and cast her gaze down to the bed.
"You're the one who left," she reminded him.
"I know."
She looked up, studying his pale face in concern.
"Promise me we'll meet next month, like we planned," she implored him and he nodded, fixing his eyes on hers.
"Sure," he whispered.
She squeezing his hand tighter, accepting his comforting lie. She leaned down to kiss his forehead softly and pulled away slowly.
"Be safe," she whispered, still holding his hand. He responded with a slight nod of his head, avoiding her eyes for he was unable to make any promises. She smiled forlornly, recognizing the familiar look on his face; the resigned expression that said that he didn't think he was going to make it and there was nothing she could do about it. She had seen that look before... so many times. There was nothing more she could say... nothing except:
"Goodbye Heero," she whispered, choking on tears, and left the room.
*     *     *
It was high noon and a cloudy gray sky stretched over New York City. A heavy downpour had left the enormous runways at JFK Airport slick with rain and riddled with puddles. Massive airplanes rolled up and down the runways to and from the large and modern terminals. In an isolated corner of the airport, adjacent to the secluded VIP terminal, stood a small private jet plane, a staircase connected to its open door. Two black SUVs were parked next to the plane and it was surrounded by Secret Service agents armed and ready for anything. Relena was just stepping up to the plane when another black SUV approached, rushing down the runway at an alarming speed.
Her bodyguards already had their guns drawn and were prepared to leap at any attacker, but she knew that it won't be necessary. She watched calmly as the SUV came to an immediate stop next to her private jet. The door opened and the driver stepped out: a young man in black Preventer uniform – Heero. The wind tousled his messy brown hair wildly as he stood there for a second, looking at her with a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He then leaned back into the car, took out a small plastic bag, left the door wide open and started making his way towards the staircase leading up to plane.
She signaled her bodyguards to stand down and stepped off the staircase, threading carefully on her high heels. She met Heero halfway and they stood face to face, looking at each other. Even on high heels she was still a couple of inches shorter than him. He had grown much taller since she had first met him; sometimes she could hardly recognize him as the same person she once fell in love with. Being perhaps the only one who knew him well enough, she was painfully aware of just how much he had changed over the years. There was hurt in his eyes unlike ever before... a kind of darkness not even the war had managed to drill into his heart. She looked up, leveling her gaze with his, trying to keep strong in face anguish only she knew so intimately.
"They discharged you," she observed quietly and he nodded.
"EKG came out fine."
"Obviously it's not your heart they should examine – but your head," she snarled a bit more nastily than she should have and he responded with a resentful glare. Relena exhaled a frustrated sigh and an awkward silence fell. She looked down at the colorful plastic bag he was holding; the bag bore an 'FAO Schwartz' logo on it. Heero caught her staring and shifted the colorful bag from one hand to the other uneasily. Finally, he inhaled a sharp breath and opened the bag. It rustled as he reached inside and pulled out a pink bunny doll wrapped in a big red bow.
"Could you... give this to her?" he asked timidly and handed her the gift, unable to look her in the eye. "Tell her... tell her it's from me."
She reached for the bear and carefully accepted his modest gift. Her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at his face again.
"Why don't you deliver it yourself?" she asked in a trembling voice; "Fly with me to DC," she begged; "I'll have you back here by nightfall."
The darkness in his eyes stirred awake, covering the ocean of blue with a glistening sheet of agonized tears.
"I can't," he said plainly, his voice cracking. He shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and turned his head sideways in a useless effort to conceal his distress. "It's... when it's all at once I... I can't," he mumbled, staring sadly at the NYC skyline in the near horizon. "I'm sorry."
Relena nodded mutely in understanding; tears were sliding down her made-up cheeks, smearing her mascara. She studied his handsome profile and waited patiently for Heero to compose himself.
"Maybe next year," he finally said and turned to face her again, his expression calm once more.
"Sure," she agreed weakly and wiped away her tears; "Next year."
He turned back to his car.
"Heero," she called after him and he stopped, turning back around. She hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward, smiling sadly, and reached for his hand.
"Take care, alright?"
He stared at her stoically, waiting as though he knew she wanted to say something more, and when she didn't he nodded, accepting her request silently. She let go of his hand, her touch lingering for a second more before drawing back completely. He walked back to his car. Relena watched him enter the black SUV and close the door behind him. She looked down at the little pink bunny in her hands. It looked back at her with big black eyes. A forlorn smile tugged at her lips. She inhaled a deep breath, composing herself, and turned on her heels to walk back to her plane.
As Relena's private jet rolled away slowly, Heero's SUV remained parked on the runway. He sat inside, the engine running, and reached to open the glove compartment. A few items fell onto the door as it opened: an open green packet of Skittles, a pack of Winston Blue cigarettes and an orange prescription bottle. He stared at the three items while the plane took off into the air, as seen through the windshield
Heero snatched the prescription bottle and twisted the cap open hastily. He shook a small white pill into his hand and shoved it into his mouth, titling his head back as the swallowed it dry in a quick gulp. He then threw the bottle back into the glove compartment and reached for the pack of Skittles. His fingers barely touched it before his hand moved towards the cigarette pack instead.
Opening it he saw that there were about seven cigarettes left inside the box, as well as a simple blue plastic lighter. He hesitated for only three seconds before pulling out a smoke and lighting it. He snapped the box shut and threw it to the passenger seat.
Taking a long puff on his cigarette, he leaned back against his seat and watched Relena's plane disappear into the cloudy NYC horizon.
It started to rain.
*     *     *
The large black and white clock above the door in Dr. Sloan's office showed 11:07 AM and the date display at the center read Dec 19 204. Heero sat on the sofa opposite of the door, looking up at the clock and watching the minutes tick by idly. Sloan sat in his usual seat on an armchair facing Heero, tapping his pen impatiently on the notepad resting in his lap as he looked at his patient with a scrutinizing glare.
"We have to talk about it," he declared sternly and Heero finally tore his gaze away from the clock. His blue eyes now rested on Sloan, gleaming coldly.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Something must have triggered your latest episode," the doctor insisted and Heero heaved an irate sigh, shifting uneasily in his seat.
"It won't happen again," he promised, but Sloan didn't look pleased.
"Is it Christmas?" the man ventured a guess.
"It won't happen again," Heero repeated firmly and the doctor sighed.
"I'm going to increase your dosage," he said as he wrote something down on his yellow notepad; "I'll prescribe some antianxiety meds as well, just to be safe."
"Fine," Heero grunted and turned to glare out the window, studying the view quietly.
"There might be some side effects," Sloan warned and Heero turned to face him again.
"Like what?"
"Nausea, disorientation, drowsiness, lightheadedness, clumsiness... In some cases patients display impaired judgment, even memory loss. If you're already suffering from any of these, it will get worse," he warned.
"If you're trying to intimidate me into talking – don't bother;" Heero muttered, uninterested, and turned to the window again. "Just prescribe whatever's necessary to clear me for duty."
"I am not trying to intimidate you, Heero," Sloan sighed, exasperated; "I'm just saying that you shouldn't be surprised if you experience some of those symptoms."
"Fine," Heero grunted, still gazing out the window stoically.
Dr. Sloan shook his head in frustration and reached for his prescription pad resting on the table at his side.
"You used to talk to Wright," he remarked disapprovingly as he wrote the new prescription down. He ripped the page off the pad and handed it to Heero, meeting his eyes. "Why not talk to me?"
Heero leaned forward to accept the prescription. "I have nothing left to say," he insisted and pulled back, skimming over the note.
"Surely there must be—"
"You can learn what you need from Wright's files," Heero cut him in mid-sentence. "I gave you my consent to access them."
"We're not talking about then, we're talking about now," the man argued in frustration; "How can I determine if you're fit for duty if you don't cooperate? You're not giving me much to work on."
"I'm giving you my word that I am fully capable of preforming my duties on this case. It's not like I have to do much," he groused bleakly; "I'm just a part of the scenery."
"Don't underestimate your role," Sloan rebuked; "They put you on this case for a reason."
"Feels more like an elaborate plan to hook me up," Heero muttered disgruntledly, then sighed and shook his head, stopping the doctor before he would try to dwell on it. "Just take my word for it – I'm fine," he hurried to conclude.
"Suffering from an acute panic attack is not fine," the older man admonished harshly; "I'm afraid that your word is not enough," he decided and reached for the Confirmation of Attendance pad. He signed it and stamped it with a red UFD stamp: unfit for duty. He handed it to Heero, glaring severely at the young agent.
"Start taking the new prescriptions," he said; "Come back in a week and we'll see about putting you back on active duty."
Heero glowered at him angrily and stood up. He snatched the note from the man's hands and marched briskly out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
*     *     *
A flickering florescent light buzzed annoyingly in a small and otherwise well-lighted stairwell room. Heero sat on the floor between two flights of stairs – one leading up to the Preventer building's 12^th floor and the other down to the 10^th floor below. He sat leaning against the wall opposite of a heavy fire-door leading in and out of the stairwell. His legs were drawn up, hands resting up supported by his kneecaps, one holding a burning cigarette and the other holding a smartphone.
Brining the cigarette up for a drag, he stared ahead thoughtfully, blue eyes numb. After a few more puffs on his cigarette, Heero turned his phone around so he could look at the display. There was a number on the open screen, ready to be dialed: 0002-08744-09-555-861
He gawked at it drearily, inhaled another puff and released the smoke slowly into the air.
He dialed. The call took a while to connect as the signal traveled far away from Earth's orbiting satellites, being routed all the way over the moon and beyond. Finally, there was a tone, and then:
"L2PD station," a female voice answered; "how may I direct your call?"
Heero took the cigarette out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, hesitating momentarily before croaking out: "Detective Maxwell please."
"One moment," the operator replied smoothly and put him on hold. Unpleasant music played in his ears. Heero placed the burning cigarette between his lips again and toyed with it nervously, waving it up and down while he waited with bated breath for the call to transfer. When he heard the on-hold music stop, his breath hitched slightly. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth again and readied himself, preparing to speak even though he felt that he couldn't form a sound over the lump in his throat.
"I'm sorry," the same female voice from a moment earlier apologized and Heero relaxed, slumping back against the wall. He placed the cigarette back in his mouth.
"He's not in today," the operator explained; "May I ask who's calling please? I could leave a message. Perhaps someone else could take your call?"
Heero took a long drag on his cigarette. His silence stretched for a bit longer than acceptable as he contemplated her offer.
"Sir? Hello?"
He hung up.
Exhaling a nervous breath, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and leaned his head back against the wall. He kept holding his cellphone in one hand and raised the other to take another drag. He blew smoke into the air, following it with his eyes as it dissipated slowly.
The heavy stairwell door creaked loudly as it was opened from the outside. Heero didn't bother looking at it and continued gazing up at the ceiling, head tilted back, smoking.
Agent Shaw peeked into the stairwell room. She spotted him sitting on the floor in front of the door, a burning smoke in his hand. Smiling cannily, she stepped inside, allowing the emergency-exit door to close behind her.
"I used to come here too when I needed to sneak in a few drags," she said in amusement and sat down on the stairs next to him, leaning an elbow over her thigh and resting her head on it, looking at him curiously.
"The Skittles aren't doing it for you anymore?"
"Not today," he mumbled tediously and took another puff.
Merida nodded; her expression serious once more.
"Yeah, I heard," she sighed; "Sloan pulled you off active duty?"
Heero didn't grace her with a response and continued smoking quietly, staring up at the ceiling. Shaw studied him with concern.
"Then why won't you go home?" she asked; "Looks like you could use some R n' R."
"Can't," he said and finally tilted his head forward so he was facing the door.
"Why not?" Merida asked with a frown.
"Baker is working on putting me back in," he replied quietly and glanced down at his phone.
"Seriously?" Shaw marveled; "He can overrule Sloan?"
"He's trying," Heero murmured, distracted while staring at his phone; "Told me to wait." He placed the cellphone in his jacket's pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; Winston Blue.
"With all due respect to A-SAC Baker, he can't go around Sloan," Merida pointed out; "That's the whole point behind having a shrink examine us, isn't it? His word beats Baker's."
"Not in this case."
"Why the Hell not?"
Heero took another smoke out of the pack, as well as a blue plastic lighter. He placed the fresh cigarette between pressed lips and lit it up. He returned the lighter to the box and shoved it into his pocket. Merida watched patiently as he took a long drag on his new cigarette and then finally pulled it away from his mouth.
"Because it worked," he stated calmly, releasing smoke slowly into the air. "He's taken the bait."
She gaped at him, shocked.
"Oh my God... for real?"
Heero nodded, taking another puff.
"So soon?"
"Yeah."
"I guess you should be flattered;" she tried to joke, though the humor was drowned by the worry in her voice. Heero didn't seem to take her attempt to joke too kindly. His usually stoic features hardened into an aggrieved, hurtful, expression.
"Sorry," she mumbled and bowed her head down to avoid his harsh blue eyes; "that was tactless."
A tense silence fell. She stared dully at the floor while Heero continued to smoke quietly, his brooding gaze fixed on the stairwell door, until he was nearly halfway through his second smoke.
"Do you know why they pulled me off Cyber to work on this case?" he suddenly asked, still staring numbly at the door.
Merida looked up again. "I assumed it's because you fit the profile."
"His victimology is extremely diverse," he remarked dryly. "Surely you saw through that."
"Yeah but... I mean... The BAU [[1]] chose you for a reason, right? Even though they probably could have come up with a dozen other agents who fit the profile far better..." she picked up on his train of thought. He nodded to signal that she was on the right track and then raised his cigarette back up for another puff.
Merida frowned warily. "You're right," she concluded; "The other victims were all involved with someone... some had families," she muttered pensively; "Loved ones are crucial in this profile. I know that this is where I come in, but now that you mention it... why go through all that trouble?"
"It's a smoke screen," he mumbled with a weary sigh, avoiding eye contact as he tilted his head back against the wall again. Merida seemed confused by his vague answer.
"To hide what?"
Heero didn't answer. He continued smoking, gazing up at the ceiling. Merida watched him quietly for a moment, frustrated.
"There's a lot they're not telling me about this case, is there?" she complained; "I feel like my job is to sit tight and look pretty and I don't like it. This isn't what I signed in for."
"Join the club," Heero grunted and took one last drag on his nearly finished smoke, finally tipping his head forward again.
She heaved an exasperated sigh. "So now what? Baker puts you back on and we keep dating until... what?" she asked and Heero shrugged indifferently.
"We'll see," he said, still looking at the door. She nodded gravely and the silence resumed for a while longer.
"Are you nervous?" she dared a bold question.
Heero turned aside and stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, his eyes focused on the small butt as he crushed it against the white tiles. "No," he whispered, twisting the burnt butt left and right; "...not usually."
Shaw nodded in sympathy. "It'll be fine," she made an empty promise, struggling to offer a reassuring smile. "We took every precaution."
"Yeah..." he breathed desolately and threw the crushed cigarette butt to the far corner of the stairwell room. His Prussian blue eyes followed its decent as it flew across the room, hit the opposite wall and bumped into it forcefully, bouncing once and then falling to the floor like a lifeless corpse.
*     *     *

[1] The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) is an FBI department that uses behavioral sciences to assist in criminal investigations of complex and time-sensitive crimes.
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