The Last Beat

Reuniting


Paris.

City of love; or something like that.

Quatre Rababba Winner stood up from his office desk and walked over to the window. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass. He closed his eyes briefly to the view of Paris at Christmastime that stretched out below the 132nd floor of the Winner Foundation Headquarters on 43rd street.

Memories flashed across his closed lids. Descending to Earth at the beginning of Operation Meteor, the sounds of the screams of the dying innocent, the brightness of the explosion concluding his piloting the Wing Zero....Quatre's eyes flew open and he shuddered against the glass.

It took a few moments for Quatre's eyes to come back into focus and he gazed down on the busy streets below.

Christmas time.

He hadn't slept for more than 3 hours at any given time during the past week and he felt the remains of last night's migraine coming back full swing.

Quatre groaned and looked back at his desk.

As usual, it was neat, but overflowing with finished and unfinished paperwork.

He hated paperwork. He didn't know a soul who didn't. Quatre just happened to be the lucky little rich boy who inherited the company and got the job of filing never-ending documents of, well, everything.

For the thousandth time, Quatre reminded himself to hire another secretary. However, somewhere in the back of his mind, the old Quatre told himself, also for the thousandth time, that he should never put a job off on someone else that he could very well do himself.

He groaned again and his head drooped. He was tired, cranky, and in dire need of a shower.

Quatre looked up and smiled a little half-smile.

"I need a coffee", Quatre murmured to himself.

***


Down stairs, in the lobby, Quatre bought his coffee--with two shots of espresso and about twenty sugars--and wandered outside.

The chilly wind picked up and dust and paper was scattered everywhere.

A flyer flew up against his leg. Quatre bent down and pried it from his khaki; frowning at the smudge of dirt it left on his pant leg.

He glanced at the flyer and quirked a delicate blonde brow.

"The circus is in town", he whispered.

That meant Trowa was in town.

***


It has been almost five years since Quatre had last seen Trowa. For a few months after the Barton Uprising, Quatre and Trowa worked together with the other former Gundam pilots at the Preventer Unit. However, Quatre was needed at the President-less Winner Foundation and Trowa was called back to the Circus. Heero Yuy disappeared shortly after and was never heard from again. Duo Maxwell decided to reside with his friend Hilde on L2--working in a junkyard of some sort. Apparently, Chang Wufei was the only one still with the Preventers.

Regardless, Quatre missed everyone terribly and wasn't about to pass up a chance to visit one of his dearest friends.

Quatre waited in line for the ticket master, paid for his overly expensive ticket, and walked in. The circus had won a considerable amount of fame over the years. It was even favored over the renowned Cirque de Soleis, which had been around for centuries.

The main tent was already packed; which was to be expected, even though the show wasn't for another hour. Quatre's seat was good; on the left risers, toward the front, section B, seat 14. Still, it's never all that great, going to the circus by yourself.

An hour later, the show began.

It was fascinating. With the gymnasts and clowns, ribbon dancers and song performers; everything in an intoxicating array of colors, sounds, and smells. Truly breathtaking in its own erotic right.

Halfway through the show, everything quieted. Blackness fell save for one spotlight that illuminated a beautiful girl girded in bright colored sashes and five throwing daggers in her left hand.

Quatre recognized her. Her name was Catherine Bloom. His pulse began to quicken as the second spotlight fell.

There was Trowa, securely fastened to a turn-table on its side, so that he hung suspended in front of Catherine; facing her and her five daggers.

"And NOW for Catherine and the Wheel of Death!"

An unseen hand pulled on the turn-table and Trowa began to spin.

The spotlight on Catherine broadened to reveal three nymph-like clowns holding an array of fruit before her. They raised the fruit above their heads and turned in a full circle, displaying their bounty to the audience. Then, they stepped back and, one by one, began throwing the fruit at Catherine.

Quick as lightning, Catherine sliced the fruit into cleanly cut pieces using her five daggers.

The crowd indulged themselves in a gasp of astonishment. Such was the way of things.

Letting himself go in the friction of anticipation, Quatre leaned forward.

The spotlight on Catherine narrowed and the spotlight on the still-spinning Trowa brightened, until he was positively glowing.

Another gasp from the audience.

Catherine tossed another blade from her left hand to her right. Where she got the dagger from, Quatre will never know. Weighing the blade in her palm, handle outward, she adjusted and flung the dagger at Trowa. The dagger planted itself neatly into the wood of the turn-table--about three centimeters from Trowa's left hipbone. Trowa didn't so much as flinch.

Applause erupted from the audience but Catherine held up hand to quiet them.

Catherine tossed two blades from God-knows-where to her right hand, weighed the blades in her palm for a fraction of a second, and flung them at Trowa.

Each blade planted its nose into the wood next to the nook between Trowa's wrists and thumbs.

More infectious applause from the audience.

Another hand of silence from Catherine.

She then took a sash from her brightly colored outfit and handed it to the nymph-like clown shrouded in darkness beside her. The nymph took the sash and used it to blindfold Catherine. She placed two more carefully-hidden daggers in both hands, blade in palm, and went very still.

After letting the suspense hang over the crowd, thick like a cloak of impenetrable darkness, she hurled the final daggers at Trowa.

Quatre gasped.

The daggers landed on either side of Trowa's head, narrowly missing his cheeks by less than half an inch.

The still-spinning Trowa never once flinched.

As the audience roared out their approval, Quatre snuck down to the floor and out the performer's exit before the lights came back on.

Quatre crept along the dark hallway until a hand grabbed his shirt roughly from behind and threw him to the ground.

Quatre looked up to see Trowa towering over him. A look of surprise flickered through his visible green eye, but it was gone as suddenly as it appeared.

Quatre smiled from his undignified sprawl on the floor. "Well met, Trowa...well met."

Catherine came up from behind Trowa. "What's the mat--oh, it's you!"

She scowled fiercely as Quatre stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants and shirt.

"Don't worry, Catherine. He's okay," Trowa told her quietly. "Give us a minute."

"Trowa, don't even think..." Catherine started.

"Please, Catherine."

"Trowa! Whatever! You know what? Never mind. Whatever!" Catherine sputtered, then spun one her heel and stalked away.

"She's very protective of me," Trowa said softly.

"Yes, I know," Quatre answered.

An uncomfortable silence ensued between them. They seemed to be assessing one another. Trowa with his bared chest and half-painted face and Quatre with his wrinkled khaki pants and untucked shirt with only three buttons buttoned and blonde hair all askew.

"It's been a long time," Quatre offered.

Trowa nodded.

"You wanna get a coffee?" Quatre asked. Come one, Trowa, he thought. Don't leave me hangin' like this. I could really use a friend right now.

Trowa blinked, "You look like hell."

Quatre looked away and shrugged.

Trowa walked up to Quatre and looked down into his worn face. Trowa reached up and gently pulled his fingers through Quatre's hair. "What's happened to you, Quatre?"

"It's been a long time," Quatre repeated hoarsely, his voice tight with emotion.

Trowa pulled away. "A coffee sounds great."

Quatre nodded.

"I'll be right back," and with that he left to change, leaving Quatre staring after him.

Quatre pressed his hand to his forehead and groaned. His headache was turning into another migraine.

"I could definitely use a double espresso latte."

***


"So, how's the circus?" Quatre asked.

They had found a little inconspicuous cafe on 5th Avenue and were sitting at one of the inside tables in the farthest corner. The choice of their table was made more out of habit than any real need for concealment.

"Not much more than what you saw today," Trowa replied, casually sipping his coffee. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a green woolen turtleneck that set off his eyes that were partially hidden beneath his light-brown hair.

"So," Quatre asked a little mischievously, "have you married that Catherine girl, yet?"

Trowa nearly choked on his coffee. "I'll probably be the one forced to bury the first man she does marry!"

Quatre laughed.

"Besides," Trowa continued, "she's more like my sister than anything else."

Quatre smiled knowingly into his latte, the steaming vapor invading his nostrils taking his migraine away temporarily.

Or was his migraine gone because he was with Trowa?

Quatre looked up to see Trowa staring at him sternly.

"Quatre," Trowa began gently. "I always thought that the President of the Winner Foundation would go out in public with at least all his shirt buttons buttoned."

Quatre shrugged. "I didn't know I was going out. I was at my office when I decided to come to your show."

Trowa quirked a brow. "You go to work without all your shirt buttons buttoned?"

Quatre laughed. "Well, no. I go to work looking just fine, but the thing is..." he shrugged again, "I see my apartment maybe once a month. I sleep in my office; wash up in the Company bathroom..." He gave a half-hearted grin as he lifted his latte, "I live off this stuff."

"That's really not healthy, Quatre."

Quatre sobered and smiled grimly at Trowa. "Neither is letting crazy women throw knives at you in front of a couple thousand people."

Trowa and Quatre stared at each other for a moment, then Trowa spoke again. Quatre almost smiled, despite the seriousness of the moment. Trowa always did talk more to Quatre than anyone else. Quatre almost took pride in that.

Almost.

"Quatre, you have dark circles under your eyes, yet you say you sleep in your office. I wonder how often that is," Trowa inquired softly.

"You try sleeping in one of those damn office chairs," Quatre answered shortly.

Trowa nodded and sat back. "You miss the old days, huh?"

Quatre nodded, "horrible, isn't it?"

"Me too."

Quatre sat back as well and took another sip of his latte.

***


"I'm home!" Hilde legged her way into the kitchen. She had just gotten back from the marketplace and her arms were full of groceries.

Duo glanced up from his laptop and gave her a half-hearted "Yo!" Then he went back to the old Oz files he was hacking into.

Duo looked back up at Hilde on a second thought and got up to help her with the groceries.

Hilde smiled gratefully. "What are you working on?"

"Don't worry about it."

Hilde started. She looked over at Duo who was busying himself with putting away the peanut butter.

She had given up on any romance between them the second time that she had ever talked to him; but, he was a good friend.

Or, at least, he used to be.

Lately, he'd been a very difficult person to live with. He would sit for hours, poring over his laptop and then disappear for days at a time. Before, this would have been normal. During the war, he'd be gone for months at a time, and she'd honestly never expect to see him again. Of course, when he'd show back up again it was never a problem. Hilde could never resist that smile.

However, Duo has been smiling less and less lately, she thought.

And now? There's no war. He's not even part of the Preventers anymore. He's a goddamn junkyard caretaker! There's not a whole lot of excitement in that job. It’s a stress-free life, man!

But maybe that was the problem.

Maybe he was restless.

Still, that's no reason for him to be so rude. Especially when he used to be so good-natured.

Duo looked over at Hilde. He knew she was getting frustrated with him. He felt bad, but, he really couldn't do anything about it.

The threat of war was in the air. He could taste it, smell it, and feel it in every fiber of his being. It was driving him crazy.

Or maybe he was already crazy.

He didn't like to dwell on that thought. But Duo knew, he knew, something was going down. And he had to be a part of it.

Hilde was sick of war, so she'd have to stay behind. She probably wouldn't object. She always kind of understood.

"I won't be here for dinner, Hilde," Duo said softly.

"Will you be here for dinner tomorrow?" An innocent enough of a question, but the underlying meaning was understood.

"No."

"Where?"

"L3."

"Oh." Hilde thought for a moment, "Why?"

He looked the carton of eggs over before putting them in the fridge. "I'll get a better perception of the Oz files on L3."

Hilde gave Duo a disbelieving look. "Right."

Duo favored her with his crazy smile. "I dunno," he shrugged. "I just gotta feeling. L3's hot. I just know it."

"Is something going down?"

Duo leaned over and casually kissed her forehead. "Let's hope not, sweetheart."

Duo swaggered back over to his laptop, plopped himself down in front of it, and resumed his hacking of the Oz files.

Hilde watched him go. Duo hadn't changed much five years. Same scraggy bangs and chestnut braid. Same violet eyes and lopsided smile. And yet he was definitely taller and better built now in his twenties. Hilde smiled to herself. That man always ate like food was going out of style, but she swore, he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Lucky Bastard, she thought.

Hhhmmm.

Our Duo Maxwell is all grown up.

Duo scowled as he was thwarted yet again from passing into the 79NQ74 and the 347X9L14 files.

"You'd think," he muttered, "that because we whooped Oz's ass five friggin' years ago these files would be at least 7% percent easier to hack into!"

Hilde smiled, "Duo?"

"Hmm?..."

"I...I'm going to the store..."

Duo looked up startled. "You just went to the store!"

Hilde nodded. "I'm going to the store," she repeated. She went to the door, donned her shoes, her hat and scarf, and reached for the doorknob. Duo jumped up and rushed over to her. He put his hand on hers.

"You take care of yourself, Hilde," Duo murmured.

"You too, you crazy oaf." Hilde forced a smile as her eyes shone with restrained emotion.
Duo laughed and gave her a big bear hug. "Now get outta here! I've got to 'go back to work'!"

Her smile faded. "I mean it Duo Maxwell. You take care."

Duo smiled softly. "Allright."

Hilde closed the door quietly behind her.

There was no trace of Duo Maxwell whatsoever when she returned an hour later.

***


A rush of exhilaration surged through Duo as the transport shuttle took off. Shinigami's spirit still ran rampant in his soul and he was tired of trying to quiet him.

Duo looked out at the endless array of stars beyond his window. "Oh hello...I remember you..."

His eyes flashed.

"I'm back!"

***


Longitude 160*
Latitude 12*
Southeastern tip of the Rennell Island of the Solomon Islands.
The better part of 1400 hours.
December 14, AC 202.

A man was discovered in the Preventer Headquarters, hacking into their mecca files, when, being a janitor, he was supposed to be mopping the kitchen floor three stories up.

The room numbered 1479, on the 114th floor, was an interrogating facility. There were four grey, perfectly square, walls; with a matching ceiling. In the upper corner of the pair of walls furthest from the door, was a fitted, curved mirror. Inside of which, was a specialized camera, with an extra mechanism that prevented the mirror from reflecting the wrong image into its recording lenses.

In the middle of the floor was a metal table screwed into the floor. On either side of the table were average-sized metal chairs, also screwed into the floor. In one chair sat the not-quite-janitor. His name tag labeled him as one Steven Lancaster, but the truth-inducing drug they had given him caused him to call himself Danny Tessen. However, that was the limit of the information they were able to pull out of him.

In the room 1477, right next to 1479, Lady Une, Sally Po, and a man named Salone Neale, stared at the screen depicting the image of Mr. Danny Tessen sitting stoicly on his metal chair. Absolutely nothing resembled the jolly janitor Steven Lancaster of three days ago.

"Three days, and you've got nothing," Lady Une said to Sally. It was more a statement than a question.

Sally smiled grimly. "Not a damn thing."

"Physiologically trained to con different personalities, physically trained, immune to our truth serums, smart enough to hack into our computer system...Sally, what's your take on this?"

"Whoever sent him isn't to be taken lightly," Sally replied.

Lady Une nodded. "Neale, are their others?"

Neale looked up. He was a man in his mid-thirties with reddish-brown hair cut short, the occasional lock falling into his dust-grey eyes. A handsome man in his own right; average height, average weight, but with a cunning mind and quick smile.

"We don't have an actual affirmative on that, ma'am. However, it is being looked into. In fact, since the discovery of Mr. Danny Tessen, six different random personnel of the Preventer Unit have evacuated their posts and haven't been heard from since. Naturally, this puts them under high suspicion."

"Of course." Lady Une looked back at the screen and scowled prettily. "I want them found."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Lady Une?" Sally inquired, suddenly alarmed. "We are not getting anything out of Tessen, so there was no reason for the other spies to panic. Therefore, we have three things to consider. One: they were called back because they fulfilled their objective and Danny Tessen is being used as a decoy so that they could escape undetected. Two: They did panic, but there are spies still hidden amoung the Preventers who feel that leaving would be more hazardous to their objective than staying. Or, finally, three: a combination of both."

Lady Une nodded her agreement. "Which brings to mind another question: What the hell could their objective be?"

Sally frowned and shook her head. "I have no idea."

Lady Une glanced at Neale. "Neale, radio Zechs and Noin. Tell them I want them up here pronto. Sally, get Wufei--"

"--He's on a reconnaissance mission on L7," interrupted Sally.

"I don't care," she replied evenly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"We'll meet in conference room 1778 at 800 hours tomorrow morning."

"Ma'am!" Neale and Sally both saluted and left the room.

Lady Une leaned over the control panel and gazed absentmindedly into the screen.

"We are the Preventers," she whispered to herself. "We are not supposed to be the Prevented."

She sighed. "What are you preventing us from, Mr. Tesson?"

Lady Une closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the screen.

"Mr. Treize...What would you do in a situation like this?"

***


"I trust you've all been informed of the latest?" Lady Une asked. It was a rhetorical question and no one answered.

They were all seated at an oval-shaped table in high-backed, leather-cushioned, chairs. Lady Une was seated at the head of the table. Chang Wufei sat to her right, straight-backed and head held high. As usual, he was positively emanating an over-arrogant aura. Wufei was dreadfully annoyed that he was called back from his mission. It was hell trying to get back on time for the meeting. As it turns out, though, he stumbled on some useful information on his hasty return to Earth from L7.

Next to Wufei, lounged Sally Po. Her chair was pushed back and her booted feet were propped up on the oak wood table. Sally had a pile of papers in her lap that she was distractedly shuffling through her fingers. Wufei, who knew she was probably doing it on purpose, had to suppress a knowing grin. A woman of action, Sally Po hated conferences and wanted everyone to know it without being overly obnoxious.

On Lady Une's left sat Commander Lucrezia Noin. Gracefully poised and attentive, one almost didn't notice how she leaned ever so slightly towards General Zechs Marquise, seated next to her.

Casually leaning back in his chair, Zechs fixed his gaze on Lady Une and nodded for her to continue.

"I don't want to make any immediate assumptions," she began. "However, for the sake of the seriousness of the situation, we must conclude that someone, possibly an organization of some sort, sent a number of spies to infiltrate our organization. Now, because we hold numerous data on every mecca on file, and that we found Danny Tesson hacking into those files, it is my opinion that whoever sent Mr. Tesson and his associates is very interested in what mobile suits and dolls that we have and have ever used in the past..."

"We?" Wufei's voice cut quietly through the air. "As far I knew, the Preventers have never used mobile dolls." He spoke the last two words with particular disgust. He hated the mere idea of mobile dolls and Wufei was getting more and more agitated with every second that Lady Une and Zechs breathed the same air as he did. He didn't care that Lady Une was the Preventer Representative for the Earth Sphere Unified Nation, or that Zechs was the General Overseer of the Preventer Unit, and he especially didn't care how often they decided to change their names or personalities, he would never truly trust them.

For a moment they all sat in an uncomfortable silence.

"Forgive me, Wufei," Lady Une said quietly. "I should have been more specific. What I meant was anyone in the history of mankind....I'll be more careful to not generalize in the future." She wasn't being kind. She knew that Wufei was insinuating her past and her involvement with Oz and the Romefeller Foundation. However, she had to maintain her professionalism in front of those assembled; even if one of them had in fact killed the only man she'd ever loved.

Wufei nodded.

"I agree that whoever is controlling these men must be interested in mobile machinery," Noin said, cutting through the friction between the two. "However, the question remains: Who is it and what is their objective?"

"Actually, Wufei reported rumors of a 'Colonial Rebellion' on L7," Sally commented.

All eyes turned to Wufei.

Wufei spread his hands slightly. "It's not what you think. It is actually and organization of some sort. The full name is the Colonial Rebellion Association. There is also a rumor of another organization..."

Wufei's voice trailed off as his eyes fixed on the door.

"Called the Earthatorial Rebellion," Heero finished for him.

"Heero!" Noin exclaimed. No one had even heard him come in.

"I have no idea where their base is, but I did find out that the Colonial Rebellion Association has a headquarters on L3," Heero continued.

"Exactly." Wufei had known, but the sudden appearance of the Wing pilot caught him off guard. He cocked his head to one side, "Where the hell have you been?"

Heero was ignoring him and staring intently at Zech’s with an unreadable expression. To his credit, Zech’s returned his gaze evenly.

"So, what are you calling yourself these days, Milliardo?"

"Milliardo is dead," Zech’s answered Heero shortly.

"Whatever." Heero turned to Noin and Sally. "I have no idea who is running these organizations or what their objectives are, but, with your permission, I would like to go to L3 to find out."

Noin laughed softly to herself. No one had heard from Heero in nearly five years and now he shows up out of knows where assuming he still has his job. We must be on the brink of disaster, Noin thought to herself.

Noin glanced at Sally, who nodded.

"Very well, Heero," Noin said.

"Roger that mission," Heero stated evenly. He glanced at Wufei, who, looking amused, stood up and directed his gaze to Sally.

Sally nodded again. "We'll radio the details of your mission en route. Now get outta here, you lunatics."

Wufei favored her with a wry smile and followed Heero out of the room.

After the door shut quietly behind them, everyone let out the breath that none of them knew they were holding.

"Son of bitch," Sally murmured to herself, shaking her head.

Zech’s looked at Lady Une and then back at his hands. Heero Yuy, what does this mean? Are we on the brink of another senseless war? I sacrificed my humanity in the last two wars; I don't think my soul can handle another one....

Lady Une broke into his thoughts. "So does this mean that the Tesson spies are from one of these organizations?"

"I dunno," Noin said. "I don't think so. All the evidence is pointing that way, but...I just have a feeling that we're missing something."

Sally inclined her head. "I agree. Something's not right."

"Do you think it has something to do with Heero?" Lady Une asked.

"No", Zech’s said. "He made a point of coming in here and asking for permission to look into this further. Heero never likes to be unsure of who his enemy is. By choosing a side, he is making sure of not confusing that issue. We can trust him."

"He doesn't trust you or I", Lady Une pointed out.

Zech’s smiled. "Lady, he doesn't trust anyone. Besides, it's irrelevant. The point is, he knows no more than we do who this enemy is."

"Or even if they are an enemy", Noin interjected gently.

"All the same", Sally said. "We're missing something. I've got a bad feeling about all this."