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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 05: N/A

Heero's small Manhattan apartment stood silent, empty and undisturbed, as it usually was for most part of the day. The low buzzing of various appliances was the only sound typically heard between the bare walls. The slat-blinds over the large living room window were partially closed and only dim rays of sunset light filtered into the modest residence. The polished hardwood floor was spotless; evidence of how rarely it was stepped upon. Every surface was clean, not even a glass ring stain to be found. The kitchen countertop and sink sparkled like they had never been used. The only evidence of anyone ever using the apartment was the single Chinese takeout box resting on the worktop by the microwave oven; where it must have been eaten in a hurry, standing up.
The sounds of jingling keys, coming from the other side of the closed apartment door, cut through the heavy silence. A key was inserted into the lock. It turned, and the door opened. Heero stepped into the apartment carrying a small white paper bag bearing a green pharmacy logo. He was dressed in his black Preventer uniform; snowflakes piled on the khaki shoulder-patches of his jacket. A few white flakes were still caught in his brown hair, but most have already melted and dampened the messy strands, plastering them over his forehead.
He locked the door behind him and walked into the kitchen, his wet boots leaving footmarks on the dark hardwood floor. He threw the small paper bag on the counter and turned to shed off his wet jacket, revealing the khaki dress-shirt and black tie he wore underneath, as well as a handgun tucked into a concealment holster above his belt. He had been cleared back for duty.
Heero hung the jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and unfastened the holster, throwing it – and the pistol – on the worktop as well. He was about to turn to the small pharmacy bag, but then stopped and whirled back around to the discarded weapon. He stared at it for a moment, his expression torn, before he finally reached to take it out of the holster. He held the small handgun for a moment, looking at it wretchedly, and then walked over to the refrigerator. Reaching up, he placed the small firearm on the top of the fridge, nudging it towards the center until it was out of sight. He then walked back to where he had left the paper bag.
He opened it and pulled out three orange prescription bottles. He placed them in a row on the clean countertop and opened each one. He twisted the cap of the first and in a sudden clumsy slip of his fingers the small container slid from his grasp and fell to the floor, its contents spilling in a loud rattle, small blue pills rolling everywhere, scattering on the floor in a chaotic pattern.
Heero stared numbly at the mess at his feet, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to keep calm. He knelt down carefully, mindful of how much weight he was putting on his left kneecap, and began collecting the small pills back into the bottle. Once done he stood back up, only to bump the top of his head on the narrow countertop ledge. He cussed, hissing in pain and rubbing his head. He reached a hand up to grab the damn worktop – fist clutched around the traitorous ledge for support – and rose carefully to his feet, wavering slightly from side to side; he was feeling a bit woozy.
He sighed and resumed opening his prescriptions; a concentrated expression on his face as he struggled to coordinate stiff, clumsy fingers. Pouring himself a glass of tap water, he gulped his medications down one by one. Just as he was about to down the third pill, his cellphone beeped. He slammed his cup of water on the kitchen countertop and shoved a hand into his pants pocket, pulling it out. An SMS was waiting; it was from Merida: Guess we're back on. Eliot's, 2030 hrs. It's a pub. No dress code.
Heero sighed irately and shoved the smartphone back into his pocket. He took the last pill and stomped out of the kitchen.
*     *     *
The clock screensaver on Heero's smartphone showed 21:07 just before the phone started ringing and the display changed to show the caller's ID: 'Agent Shaw'. The sleek device was lying on Heero's bedside table. The bedroom was dark, aside from the soft blue halo the smartphone screen was now projecting on the ceiling. In this dim blue light, a shadowy figure could be seen lying in bed, concealed under thick covers, a head of short, messy hair sprawled over the pillow. As the ringing persisted, Heero stirred, moaning sleepily, and rolled over, now facing the nightstand. He reached a clumsy hand towards it, searching blindly for the phone while he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids fluttered up and down lazily, refusing to remain open. His fingers found the smartphone, so he kept his eyes closed and brought the device up to his ear.
"...'ello?" he slurred with a sleep-heavy voice.
"Heero?" Merida's voice replied instantly; she sounded pissed. "Are you seriously standing me up?" she demanded harshly; "We were supposed to meet over half an hour ago!"
"Wha—what?" he muffled groggily, blinking repeatedly as he tried to open his eyes again.
"Eliot's, Heero," Shaw repeated, sighing. "We have a date. Baker's orders, remember?"
Finally managing to keep his heavy eyes open, Heero pushed up on one elbow. He stared blankly at the wall for moment and then cast his gaze back down, scowling.
"I uh... yeah..." he finally confirmed and threw the blanket aside, revealing a pair of boxers and tank top undershirt; "Sorry... I... I thought I... I was still off... off duty..." he mumbled as he struggled to sit up, having a hard time pushing off the bed. He flung two legs off the edge and planted both feet on the floor, using the movement as leverage to sit up.
"Heero, are you alright?" Merida's worried voice spoke to him through the phone. "You don't sound too good. You were sleeping, weren't you?"
"No, I... fine—" he cleared his throat; "I'm fine," he corrected in a steadier tone and stood up hastily, flinging a hand forward to grab the night table for support or else he'd tumble. His vision came in and out of focus; he was dizzy. He steadied himself, turned on the bedside light and hurried towards the dresser at the other side of the room. The smartphone was tucked between his ear and shoulder.
"I'll be there in twenty," he promised, yanking a drawer full of clothes open, and hung up.
*     *     *
He showed up at Eliot's – a small East Village pub – about half an hour later, stepping out of a yellow NYC taxi dressed sloppily in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a shabby dark-brown leather jacket and ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes. There was a distinct five O'clock shadow on his stubbly face and his hair was a scruffy mess, betraying the obvious fact that he had just gotten out of bed and rushed down there. Merida was waiting outside in the cold, hugging her elegant coat tightly around herself, an angry expression on her made-up face.
"Sorry," he huffed as he approached and walked her to the door, keeping it open for her as she stepped in first. She sent him a quick glare, sighed, and walked inside.
The place was dim, stuffy and full of cigarette smoke. Low music was playing in the background. They got a seat in a private booth by a window overlooking the street, shedding their coats off and throwing them onto the brown leather benches. Merida was also dressed rather plainly: snug blue jeans and a purple blouse with just the right amount of cleavage. She could swear she caught him staring for a split second before a waitress came and handed them menus.
"Should we order a drink?" Merida asked as she skimmed hastily through the menu.
"We're on duty," Heero reminded her curtly.
"Well, I've been waiting out in the cold for over an hour," she snapped, "I'm getting a drink."
Heero placed his menu down. "Fine."
"Order one too," she instructed snappily; "It's supposed to be a date."
The waitress returned. Shaw ordered a Cosmopolitan cocktail and French fries on the side; Heero asked for a shot of Jameson Whiskey and a certain European beer. As they waited quietly for their order, he pulled out a pack of Winston Blue from his jacket, which lay at his side.
"Mind if I smoke?" he asked while drawing a smoke out of the pack.
"That's why I picked the place," Merida informed him with half a smile. "Do you know how hard it is to find a place that doesn't ban smoking? That nasty habit of yours sure makes us easier to track down."
Heero nodded and lighted his cigarette. The waitress returned with their orders, placing a basket of greasy fries at the center of the table and handing each their drink. Heero took a small sip of beer and resumed smoking. Merida munched on some French fries and then turned to her drink. She stirred it absentmindedly with a straw, watching him dully.
"So... no more Skittles?" she finally opened in conversation, using a friendlier tone to declare a truce. She took a small sip from her cocktail and waited for his answer.
"What's the point," Heero sighed wearily and reached for his foreign beer bottle, holding his burning smoke in the same hand.
"I didn't take you for a quitter," she teased and he shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle and finishing with another drag on his cigarette.
"I pick my battles," he mumbled broodingly, paused to think, then shrugged and took another puff. "This one is not worth the effort," he concluded.
Merida snarled knowingly, seeing straight through his rationalized excuse. "Yeah, quitting is a bitch," she sneered teasingly.
They sat in silence for a while, she sipping her Cosmo quietly, staring at the table, while he smoked and gazed ahead solemnly.
"You never told me how you knew," Merida finally picked up the conversation.
Heero turned to look at her, frowning. "Knew what?"
"That he took the bait," she clarified. "That's why Baker managed to get you back in, right?"
He sighed quietly and cast his gaze back down. She watched him lift the cigarette back to his lips, take a long drag and release the smoke slowly.
"He contacted me," Heero finally said as he reached to shake his cigarette over an ashtray; "Sent me a message."
"He did?" she marveled, quite shocked; "Why? He never contacted any of the other victims."
Heero placed his burning smoke in the ashtray and reached for his shot of whiskey.
"I'm not just any other victim," he muttered and gulped down the shot, slamming the glass down on the table once done.
She frowned, confused. "Meaning what?"
Heero picked up his cigarette again and took another puff. He then helped himself to some French fries. After realizing that she won't get an answer out of him, Merida released a frustrated sigh.
"Well, what did he say?" she asked instead.
He took another sip of beer and the lowered the bottle down a bit, just enough so he could answer. "Nothing important," he said and raised the bottle for another sip. "Just letting me know he's there," he added once he placed the bottle back on the table. He had nearly finished it, as well as his smoke, which he turned to stub out in the ashtray.
Agent Shaw scowled warily; wrinkles forming on her freckled face.
"Would that be the night you collapsed?" she asked warily.
Heero took another cigarette out of the pack. He signaled the waitress for another shot of whiskey by pointing at his empty glass. She nodded to acknowledge. He lit up his second smoke and leaned back into his seat, avoiding Merida's eyes the whole time.
"There are rumors about you, you know," Shaw tried a different approach. That got his attention. His eyes shot up, sharp and piercing, pinning her gaze with his. He looked at her intensely, his expression giving away nothing. He took a puff on his cigarette, releasing smoke in her direction. "Are there now," he muttered cynically.
"I did some checking after our talk in the stairwell yesterday," she informed him bluntly; "Turns out you're even a bigger mystery than I thought."
The waitress returned with his second order of whisky. He gulped down the shot and placed it evenly on the table. He resumed smoking, finally turning to look at his partner again.
"What do they say about me?" he dared her in a challenging tone.
Merida shrugged, stirring her drink. "All sort of crazy things," she admitted and took a sip; "Hard to sift anything solid out of the madness."
He scoffed, smirking in an almost sultry manner. The alcohol was obviously starting to affect him, for he was loosening up.
"Story of my life," he groused as he brought the cigarette back up to his unshaven face.
Merida offered him a small, sympathetic smile. The silence resumed for a moment or two before she spoke again.
"Is it true you used to be with Senator Darlian?" she asked carefully, knowing she was approaching a touchy subject, but hoping that the alcohol would keep him talking.
"That's no secret," Heero muttered solemnly and reached for his beer, finishing it with a few quick gulps.
"She's the 'Her' on your phone, isn't she?"
Heero shoved the empty beer bottle aside and reached for some fries, clearly unwilling to either confirm or deny her guess.
"Rumor has it you two met during the war," she pressed on; "You must have been mere kids back then."
"Your point being?" he asked, annoyed, and stubbed out his second finished smoke into the ashtray. He reached for the pack lying over his jacket and drew a third cigarette out of the box. There was only one more left. He held the smoke between his lips as he lighted it up, his eyes still glaring at Merida fiercely.
"It's a well-known fact that she was involved with one of the Gundam pilots during the war," the redheaded agent pointed out boldly.
"So?" he muffled with the burning cigarette still tucked between his lips and shoved the lighter back into the box, thumping it shut violently.
"So you're guilty by association..." Merida whispered, leaning forward secretively. She looked him in the eye, holding his fierce gaze for a dramatic moment.
"You're one of them, right?"
Though he had just lit it, Heero stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray.
"We should leave," he said and stood up, pulling his wallet out of jeans' back pocket. He yanked out a few ragged bills and threw them onto the table, right next to his two empty shots of whisky and beer. He grabbed his jacket from the bench and turned to leave. Merida hurried to snatch her things and follow him before he made it out the door.
"I'm right, aren't I?" she called after him once they stepped into a quiet Manhattan side-street. "It sure explains a lot. Is this why it's all so hush-hush?"
Heero ignored the question. He slipped his tattered brown jacket on as he walked ahead of her, heading down the street towards a main road. She picked up her pace to catch up.
"Where are you off to?" she huffed, panting, struggling to keep up on a wobbly pair of high heels. He stopped abruptly and whirled back around to face her. There was a wild, haunted expression on his pale, stubbly, face. He looked utterly distraught. Merida froze in her tracks, not sure of what to make of his odd behavior. Then, in a flash, he suddenly shoved her against the nearest building wall, towering over her menacingly... so dangerously close, engulfing her with a cloud of sultry body heat mixed with the scents of cigarettes, leather and cologne. She could smell the alcohol in his shallow breath as he had her pinned between his firm body and the wall; literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"Heero... what are you doing?" she whispered shakily, looking up into his ferocious Prussian blue eyes.
"We're being watched," he whispered back as he leaned forward slowly, a hand rising to push the collar of her coat aside gently. She gasped when his warm lips touched the hollow of her neck. She looked over his broad shoulder, her eyes shifting left and right frantically. She couldn't see anyone around to confirm his claim.
"No, we're not..." she whispered back and placed two hands on his taut chest, pushing him off her gently, not shoving him hard enough to make a scene – in case he was right – but enough to make point. Heero wouldn't budge though. He started nibbling her neck, slowly making his way up to her earlobe.
"Across the street..." he huffed quietly into her ear, his hot breath reeking of cigarettes; "The alley."
Her eyes shot up again, searching the alleyway at the other side of the road. There was no one there.
The palms of her hands were still spread across his firm chest. She pushed him off harder.
"There's no one there," she insisted; "I think you had a bit too much to drink... Looks like you can't really hold your liquor..." she tried to give him a graceful way out, laughing uneasily.
Heero drew back, frowning as he thought about it for a moment. "Usually I can..." he mumbled pensively and then ducked down to kiss her lips. Merida dodged him, turning her head aside.
"Why won't you stop before you do something you'll regret in the morning?" she suggested and pushed hard off the wall with the back of her foot, using it as leverage to finally break free. Heero stumbled a step backwards, still smirking cunningly.
"I've regretted far worse..." he droned the words out in a low, licentious, whisper. He tackled her into the wall again, flinging two arms forward against the wall, blocking her way from both sides. He leaned towards her, his eyes gleaming lustfully; it was an aggressive, dangerous kind of lust.
"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it..." he murmured, his lips hovering alarmingly close to hers.
For a brief moment, Merida simply stared meekly at his pale lips. Of course she had thought about it, she was only human, but that didn't go to say that she was willing to follow it through... and neither should he.
Her breath caught in her throat once she realized that although she didn't know him to be such a man, Heero suddenly struck her as someone capable of actually following such dark desires. There was always something dangerous brewing just beneath the surface of his cool and desolate façade; a frightening, bone-chilling darkness. Such turmoil would eventually drive anyone over the edge, especially when put under so much pressure. She realized with horror that Heero has actually admitted to not being himself on quite a few occasions lately. It then dawned on her just how dangerous her predicament was.
"Okay – I'm calling it a night!" she announced firmly and maneuvered away from him, ducking under his outstretched arm and moving away quickly. She ran towards the main road just a few feet away and waved her hand up to hail a taxi. A yellow cab stopped by her side in a matter of seconds and she hurried to yank the door open. She paused before entering and turned back to look at her partner.
"Go home, Heero," she ordered him in reprimanding tone. "Sleep it off," she added grimly; "I'll see you at the office," she finished with a tired sigh and stepped into the taxi.
Heero watched it drive off. For a long while after it was gone, he remained standing rooted to his spot, his eyes fixed on the empty road. Heaving a long sigh, he leaned back against the building wall and pulled out the cigarette pack from his jacket pocket. He drew the blue lighter and the last cigarette left in the box. He lit it up, glancing up at the alleyway across the street.
A figure was watching from the shadows; waiting.
Heero shoved the lighter and empty cigarette box back into his pocket. He remained leaning against the building wall and had his last smoke, droning-on on each drag so it would last. His eyes were focused on the figure in the alleyway the whole time.
Once the cigarette was about to run out, Heero pulled his smartphone out of his jeans' pocket. He held the burning butt in one hand as his other slid over the touch-screen and entered the contact list. He scrolled down, the names blurring together, until he reached the letter 'H'. He stopped on the name 'Her'. His finger hovered above the name, never pressing it.
He raised the cigarette back to his mouth, taking one last drag before he had to throw it away. He stared at the contact name, his finger still floating above it, but never dialed. He was just about to put the phone away again, when his eyes caught the name underneath 'Her', a new contact he could not recall inputting into his phone. The name read 'Him'.
Heero scowled warily. He gazed at it for a minute long; the small butt burning away between his lips, close to scalding him. He pulled it out and held it between two fingers, never tearing his gaze off the strange new name.
He dialed.
A phone number appeared digit after digit on the dial-screen as the outgoing call went out: 0002-08744-54-991-6070. It was a mobile number: L2 cluster, colony 08744. A second later, a familiar male voice answered: "Maxwell."
Aghast, Heero hung up and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket. He looked up at the alley again. The figure was still there, still watching.
The burning butt was scalding his fingers. The stinging sensation finally registered and Heero hissed in pain, letting it go. The butt fell to the ground, raising one last column of smoke before burning out completely.
Heero looked up again, his eyes seeking the figure in the dark alley. There was no one there. He stood unmoving, waiting, watching the shadows for movement. There was none.
His hand reached by reflex into his jacket before he recalled that he had left his apartment in a hurry, leaving his gun on the fridge. Wincing at his own stupidity, Heero pulled his smartphone out again, his fingers skimming hastily through the contact list until he reached the name 'Agent Shaw'. He hesitated a moment, glancing up at the dark alley, and then back at his phone. He dialed.
A few dozen blocks away, Merida was seated at the back of a taxi. When her cellphone rang, she took it out of her purse and read the caller ID: 'Agent Yuy'. She rolled her eyes, scoffing irately, and hung up the call with a violent press of her finger. She thrust the phone back into her purse, shaking her head in disappointment.
The call disconnected. Heero gaped wretchedly at his cellphone. He sighed. Of course Shaw wasn't going to answer him after tonight...
He looked up at the alleyway again. It was still empty; no sign of the shadowy figure... but Heero knew he was there.
His fist clenched around his phone. He turned his head left and right, searching for movement. The street was empty and dark, aside from the electric purple lights projected by Eliot's neon sign a few dozen feet away. It was hard to see. Heero turned to look in the direction of the main road, which was lit far more brightly. He pushed off the wall and started walking towards it, his pace quickening with each urgent step.
Cars, buses, motorbikes and taxis rushed up and down the busy main street. Traffic flowed in a steady stream well into the wee hours of the night. From time to time people stepped out of the dark side-street, leaving Eliot's as the hours ticked by and morning approached. Friends, couples and singles – drunk and sober alike – they all walked out into the busy street to hail a taxi, departing safely.
Heero, however, never made it out to the main road.
*    *     *
Kneeling by his bed, Duo gaped dully at his phone long after the mystery caller hung up. His heart was still pounding strongly in his chest. He was certain that he was about to get another call from the same eerie man who had called after his first hack into the Preventer database, yet this time all he managed to hear was a quick gasp before the caller hung up.
His eyes traveled back to the laptop lying open on the bed in front of him. The last IM still displayed on the screen: An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.
Duo reached uncertain fingers towards the keyboard. He typed a reply: Was that you?
The cursor blinked over a blank screen for a moment before a response came in: That was a test.
To learn what?
This time, the reply took much longer to appear.
I'll be seeing you soon, it read, and the IM window switched closed. Duo was now staring at a black screen. His laptop has been turned off remotely. His bedroom fell completely dark.
Duo stared ahead dazedly. Someone was fucking with him.
He lifted his cellphone up again and entered the call log. The small screen shed eerie pale light on his face; shadows emphasizing his grim features. He stared at the number of the latest incoming call. He dialed and raised the phone slowly to his ear, a numb expression on his face as he waited. No answer; the call was disconnected on the second ringing tone.
*     *     *
In a dark and featureless room, a pair of male hands wearing latex gloves carefully folded dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a white tank top undershirt – its collar soaked with blood – and a shabby dark-brown leather jacket into a neat pile laid on a plain wooden table. They placed a pair of ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes on top of the pile and tucked a folded black sock into each shoe. They then gently placed the garments inside an open UPS box.
One gloved hand reached for a small black leather wallet resting by the box. It picked it up and flipped it open to reveal the driver's license inside the ID window – Heero's license. The wallet was then placed carefully between the two shoes.
The latex-covered hands turned to pick up one last item from the table. It was a small plastic zip-bag. The inside of the bag was smeared with blood and in it were a bloodied molar-tooth and a tiny electronic chip. The bag was placed inside the box as well.
The hands closed the UPS box, took a thick black marker and wrote:
'Ms. Relena Darlian, 23 D ST SE, Capitol Hill, Washington DC 20003'
*     *     *
Even after a third sleepless night, not going to work the next morning was simply out of the question. Duo showed up at the station bright and early, determined to get some answers. He will not be played with anymore. Whoever was out for it – they now had his full and undivided attention. Someone was trying to thrust him back into Heero's life and he was going to find out why... and then he was going to fucking kill the bastard! He didn't ask for this... and chances were that neither did Heero.
He started off by searching for more information about the 202 DC Incident. He browsed through news archives and law enforcement databases, trying to find a trace of a major event that happened at the time. It was tedious work, which mostly lead to one dead end after the other. There was nothing about a major terrorist attack in Washington DC back in December AC 202; not on the news, not in the police and emergency services records... and most puzzlingly – not even in Preventer's most classified reports. No matter where he dug or how deep, he couldn't even find a trace of the video he had been shown.
After hours of rummaging through government databases, he returned to examine various press releases. None of them mentioned anything remotely close to what he was looking for. There was, however, one small headline that caught his eye. It was a local high-school paper in the DC area that dedicated a small article – barely a few sentences long – to a fire that broke out at a private house party in a Capitol Hill neighborhood on Christmas Eve AC 202. It was a mere drop in an ocean of information, nothing more than a footnote in some high school news blog, but one specific detail singled it out from the rest: there were eleven casualties: men, women and a three-year-old boy. Bingo.
Duo smirked and leaned back into his creaky chair, stretching his arms over his head. He cracked his knuckles as he gazed smugly at his computer screen. Someone hadn't done a good enough job keeping a tight lid on the press, neglecting the amateur releases.
He stared lengthy at the short article, his eyes never leaving the number '11'. Eleven people had allegedly perished in that fire... not thirteen. That must mean that both Heero and his... daughter... had made it out alive. She survived. Duo was even more relieved than he thought he'd be.
But then... why did Dr. Wright's notes mention that Heero was a bereaved parent? Was that also part of the cover-up? Why? That didn't make any sense. Why write her off as dead?
He was missing something. Someone had obviously picked up on this careless trail of breadcrumbs and was trying to show him that something was amiss... but what? And why bring this information to him? Why draw his attention to what happened in DC? Why hint at what was happening in New York? Could this have anything to do with that Redeemer psycho? What possible connection could there be? The only common factor he could think of seemed to be Heero. And now that he thought about it: why put a former counterterrorism operations' agent on a criminal investigation? Why was Heero cleared for field duty just as the Redeemer started his killing spree? Someone was making sure that he'd notice all of these abnormalities – why?
He decided to look deeper into the Redeemer's murder victims. As a cop, he had little trouble entering NYPD's database. The information was abundant: The killings started about three months ago. There were seven victims so far, with no common factor to point at a certain pattern: different age groups, sex, occupations, kidnapping locations... they all varied with each victim. It seemed that the killer was hunting at random. NYPD's initial reports suspected that they were dealing with blitz attacks rather than premeditated killings. There was no telling where the killer would strike next, which made him impossible to catch.
There was a definite ritual, so it was safe to assume that it was always the same Unknown Subject behind the murders. The Unsub kidnapped his victims, tortured them and then forced them to call a loved one to say goodbye. The victims were tortured further and then finally killed by a gunshot to the head – execution style. The bodies were dumped someplace close to their home so the family would find them. There was always a blindfold around their eyes when they were found. After the fourth victim, Preventer intervened, sending BAU agents and later two of their CID field agents: Shaw and Yuy.
Duo decided to follow a hunch. He extracted the names of the eleven who perished in the 202 DC "fire" from the MPDC database, and crossed-referenced the scarce details with those of the Redeemer's victims listed in the NYPD database. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find parallels:
-
Melissa Mendez, age 22, Latin, American: Perished in DC "fire".
Jessica Gomez, age 22, Latin, American: The Redeemer's first victim.
-
Michael Lee, age 34, Asian, American: Perished in DC "fire".
Jason Wang, age 34, Asian, American: The Redeemer's second victim.
-
Cassandra Maes, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: Perished in DC "fire".
Alexandra Janssens, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: The Redeemer's third victim.
-
The pattern was the same for all seven murder victims; they each shared the same sex, age and ethnic origin of one of the DC victims. The resemblance was too uncanny to be ignored. Duo was willing to put his money on it that if he looked deeper into the victims' profiles, he would find more similarities, such as occupation and marital status. Furthermore, he was certain that the Redeemer was killing his victims in the same order the DC hostages were executed. That would mean that the eleventh victim will be a three-year-old boy... and what would be of Heero?
"Jesus Christ..." He exhaled uneasily and leaned back into his chair, tapping a pen on the desk nervously. No wonder Preventer stepped in... Someone with enough knowledge of the DC Incident has figured it out. That was why they transferred Heero to the CID... that was why he was on the case. Fuck. The son-of-a-bitch was on a suicide mission again!
His cellphone was lying by the keyboard. Duo reached for it and entered the contact list, where he had stored the New York area mobile number from last night. He had listed it under the name 'N/A'. His finger hovered above the contact-name for a doubtful moment, and then he dialed. This time, the call was directed straight to voicemail. Duo's heart nearly came to a full stop when the recording of a familiar, quiet and monotonous voice started playing:
"You've reached agent Yuy," it said; "State your name, number and purpose of your call." The curt message was followed by a beep.
Duo hung up quickly, his hand shivering. He placed the cellphone back on the desk, his expression numb.
"Holy fuck..." he whispered anxiously, unable to shake off the dreadful feeling twisting his gut. Heero tried to call him last night. He actually tried to contact him! Could it be that, for the first time in eight years, he finally had something to say? Something must have happened; something... bad.
The landline phone on his desk suddenly started ringing.
"Jesus!" Duo exclaimed, jolting in alarm. He was far too tense; his heart still palpitating. He straightened in his seat, ran a hand through his long bangs and reached for the receiver. He paused for second, inhaling a deep breath, and picked up the call.
"Maxwell."
He was answered by a female voice. "Detective Maxwell, hello," she greeted briskly; "I'm agent Merida Shaw of Preventer's NYC Field Office. Can we speak?"
Duo's heart sank painfully, crashing into his ribcage. Damn it; he had a bad feeling about this. It couldn't possibly a coincidence that this phone call came just as he had unraveled the truth about the killings. Someone out there was carefully orchestrating the whole thing. He was a pawn in a game, but to what end?
"Sure," he said as casually as he could manage, attempting to sound as ignorant as he was supposed to be; "What can I do for you, agent?"
Agent Shaw heaved a despaired sigh. "Hopefully... help save my partner's life," she declared dramatically. "I have reason to believe you know him... Heero Yuy."
Duo grimaced; his fears confirmed. Something happened to Heero.
"Yeah... I knew him... once," he mumbled, sighing; "How do you know about it?"
For a moment, there was an awkward silence, before Shaw spoke again.
"I think someone wanted me to," she said, hesitating; "To be honest, I was following a hunch calling you. Looks like I was right. You were also one of them, weren't you?"
His heart started racing again, as it often did when someone was onto him and his past as a Gundam pilot. Then again, after so many years, he should have learned to get the surge of panic under control.
"We were partners, yeah," he confirmed quietly. "But what does it haffta do with anything?"
"I believe that you're far more qualified to answer that question, detective," Shaw replied forlornly; "Right now I need you to get on the next flight to New York City. We don't have much time."
*     *     *
Duo got on the first available flight leaving the L2 Cluster for Earth. Being a commercial charter flight, he was looking at a 36 hour trip, with a stop on the Moon to change connections headed for New York City. Sitting in a window-seat, he gazed out at the distant stars, as he had been doing for the past hour since the shuttle left the L2 spaceport. His troubled expression reflected on the cool glass.
He remembered looking out at the stars in a rare moment of tranquility during his last mission with Heero; their last flight together. They were headed to colony L3 X-18999 in an attempt to stop the brewing incursion threatening Earth, and rescue Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian, who was kidnapped by a terrorist faction – remnants of White Fang – threatening to carry out the original Operation Meteor. That was one Hell of a trip. A final, epic, mission... followed by a heartless goodbye.
They never made it out X-18999 together. Last he had seen Heero standing on his own two feet they were standing in X-18999's Command Information Center after stopping the colony's decent to Earth. The young Wing-ZERO pilot had then punched him in the stomach brutally, rendering him unconscious so he won't become a liability as he ran off to rescue her.
But before all that, for a few precious hours on that shuttle headed for L3, Heero was all his... with nowhere to run. If he had known that it would be the last quiet moment he would ever get to spend with Heero, he would have passed the time differently, not just stared out the window, daydreaming, while the autopilot was in control and Heero slept at the helm. He recalled that he did try to say something – it was too long ago to remember what exactly – but those words were also left unsaid the moment he noticed that Heero was asleep. He didn't have the heart to wake him and simply settled for the guilty pleasure of gazing upon the rare sight of Heero's lax features... almost innocent in sleep.
He remembered thinking that Heero was beautiful. He remembered thinking that once their latest ordeal would be over they will have all the time in the world to say all sort of things to one another. He remembered thinking that if Heero was taking him along to rescue Relena then there was no more need to fear that he will be running off to her once everything was over. And he remembered the heart-shattering punch to his gut the moment Heero decided to leave him behind and take off on his own. He had collapsed into Heero's sturdy arms, his heart crumbling to pieces on the floor of X-18999's CIC. As his world faded to black and Heero's distant voice whispered something in his ear, he knew that nothing Heero said would ever matter... Relena had won.
Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh and finally tore his gaze away from the window. He reached a hand into his jeans' pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The device was working on flight-mode. He entered the contact list and scrolled down to the name 'N/A'. He pressed 'edit' and changed the name to 'Heero'. He hit 'save'.
*     *     *
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