Disclaimers: Not mine. I wish they were, but sadly, they belong to someone else with a lot more money than I.
Pairings: None yet, but there will be some in later parts
Warnings: Trowa’s POV. There be men in them there hills, doing things they shouldn’t be. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. There is lemon in here, and a lot of it, so don’t be shocked when you see it.
Special thanks as always goes to my ever-so-patient beta, TanithNight. Thanks for being so helpful!!
THE END OF THE MUNDANE – PART 1
Already wide awake, I roll over in the large bed and sigh in resignation. It seems I’ve beaten the alarm clock, yet again, this morning by more than twenty minutes. Shutting my eyes firmly, I try my best to go back to sleep, but my brain’s already up and running, far more willing than I to start the day.
My body moves without me having to make any decisions, so ingrained is my everyday routine. The first time I have to actively think about what I’m doing is when I’m standing in the kitchen, attempting to decide what I’m going to make for breakfast. It only takes a few seconds to settle for oatmeal, something as bland and boring as my own life.
Sitting alone in my small apartment, I contemplate the state of my abode. It could be summed up with one word: dreary. The walls are off-white, stained by whatever people that lived here before me. The furniture is tan and plain, with a couple of dark brown pillows on the couch for comfort.
I have no idea when my existence became so predictable, but I know I usually feel as insignificant as my meal this morning, used only to fill up an empty space. So what if the space I fill is supposedly an important position? It’s a job that could be done by many, one I’ve been given only because of my special skills when I chose not to be a field agent with the illustrious Preventers organization.
Most probably believe I lead a charmed life, being friends with a number of influential people and holding a high position in one of the most respected peace-keeping forces in the universe. I’m sure some think I have a full social life, where I date as often as I wish and have a black book as thick as the repair manual for a mobile suit.
In truth, my life is…dull. As Coordination Manager of Operations my job is to review every case that comes to the Preventers and decide which are important enough for us to take on, which of our many teams will be the best suited for the task and then I get the thrill of informing the leader of the chosen team they have been picked. I spend most weekdays at work, from eight until five, sitting behind a desk unless a meeting interrupts the monotony. My life is paperwork and schedules, assemblies with the board that controls our money and requisitioning supplies. Weekends are spent catching up on paperwork and reading for fun when I take the time to do something other than work.
I leave for work precisely at 7:15, just as I do every single weekday, getting into the car I chose for its dependability, beginning the fifteen minute drive to the building that houses Preventers Headquarters. As I drive along the mostly empty roads, I think about the other former Gundam Pilots and how my life differs from theirs.
While my life hinges on the routine I have created, Quatre’s life is full to brimming. He still works for his family’s company, but he also started a recording label he named ‘Muse’ almost four years ago. Since its conception he has contracted more than two hundred big name actors and musicians, winning awards and acclaims with his new take on music. I’ve listened to some of his creations, and they remind me of the music Duo used to listen to when there was a spare moment during the war. Quatre admits that’s where he got the concept in the first place.
I know Quatre has a grueling schedule, but there’s nothing routine about it. My blonde friend can, and has on several occasions, be called away at any moment to deal with a contractual issue or simply to soothe a star’s ruffled feathers.
Heero, the one everyone assumed would need some sort of regimen to acclimate to normal life, originally signed on as Relena’s head of security. He still holds that title, but now he has two others he wears with pride: husband and father. The news of the impending marriage had stunned me, but I understood after seeing the aura of peace that surrounded Heero when he looked at Relena. Hearing of the pregnancy three months after they had married had left me as flabbergasted as it had made Heero excited, especially after learning they would be having twins. A year after the girls were born, both of which look like smaller versions of their mother, Heero and Relena were gifted with a boy that resembles his father so much its shocking. When Caleb is in a bad mood, his glare is exactly like the one Heero used during the war.
Now, in the Yuy household there is rarely a schedule. Most often chaos seems to reign, but Heero thrives on it and dotes on his family. It’s not hard to see that he’s happy. The man wears a constant smile on his face and is never far from home. When Relena has to travel for work, Heero and their three children go with her.
The only one of us to join the Preventers right after the war, Wufei found his niche not as an agent, but as an instructor. When there is time in our schedules we have lunch together, but I’ve started to limit the time we spend together, finding it hard to listen to the details of his idyllic life when I have none to share of my own.
Sally is large with their first child and she is due in less than a week, though she continues to work despite Wufei’s arguments. They have been married for two years and he is still fiercely protective of his wife, though she is capable of taking care of herself without any help. She allows him to fuss over her, usually ignoring what he says and doing what she wants anyway. They make a good match; she’s just as stubborn and opinionated as he is.
Pulling into the multi-level garage the Preventers use, my thoughts grind to a halt when I spy a sleek black and silver motorcycle parked in a spot that has been vacant for three weeks. Carrying my briefcase I circle the familiar bike for a moment, wondering what it’s doing here. There are very few agents here this early, and the owner of this particular vehicle never comes in early unless he’s ordered to do so.
Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, I realize the choice of transportation proves how different Duo and I are from one another. In my mind Duo is like the motorcycle he drives: fast, sleek, and difficult to control. I remain predictable and steady, only occasionally straining at the confines my office and responsibilities put on me. Duo, on the other hand, can rarely be found in his office, preferring to stay either in the field or training with his agents.
Knowing I have plenty of time before anyone will be looking for me, I take a detour, stopping at the floor one level below my own and walking down the long hallway. The amount of agents I find working quietly at their cubicles is disturbing and I frown when seeing they belong to the same team that is supposed to be out on assignment, all of them looking fatigued and worn. A quick head count shows several members of this team are absent and I can’t stop the worry.
Reaching the end of the corridor, I stand in the doorway and watch the man inside the office for several minutes as he rapidly types on his computer, one knee visibly bouncing under the desk. It’s a rare occasion to find Duo sitting and I can’t help indulging myself, frowning slightly when Duo’s hand stabs into his hair, the long fingers trembling.
If it was anyone else I would assume the shaking is from nerves or fear; for Duo the idea is preposterous. I’ve never seen the long-haired man back down from anything. Duo is often the first to put himself in harm’s way and would do anything to protect those he cares about, whether they are his friends or the many members of his teams.
When Duo had originally been offered the position of team leader he had rejected the idea, not because he was afraid of the job, but because he didn’t think he would be a good leader. He had been even more adamant upon learning Une wanted him to lead not one team, but six of them, each team having ten people. Une had offered a compromise, Duo could begin with one team. If that proved successful, he could take on as many teams as he felt comfortable.
Three years later Duo leads not only the six teams he had been offered at first, but eleven of them. What it amounts to is that Duo is responsible for over a hundred people and I’ve never heard any complaints, not from the team members, Duo, clients, or Une. Agents often request a position on Duo’s teams, a fact that still amazes him. There is actually a waiting list for places on his teams, something that has never happened with another team leader.
What astonishes me is that Duo is so modest about the entire thing. Basically, he is the shining star of the Preventers, but he rebuffs the compliments, saying he would be nothing without his agents, whom are affectionately called Maxwell’s Kids by everyone, though most are older than him by a least five years. Duo’s arguments are usually countered with statistics not even he can ignore. Since he started leading his teams three years ago, the agency conviction rating has gone up seventy percent and the number of closed cases has increased sixty-four percent, with both numbers continuing to rise each year Duo remains in command.
Last year Duo was given the option of training his teams without going into the field with his people. I wasn’t surprised when the offer was turned down, Duo choosing to go with his teams when he could. When I got the nerve to ask him why, he said he would go crazy if he was confined to his office all the time. I have to agree, unable to imagine Duo behind his desk constantly; there’s just too much energy in that body to trap for long, though I do wish he was in the building more often.
When Duo finishes typing he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping on the desk in a stuttering beat. The action has me frowning again. Duo seems to have boundless energy, but this is something else entirely. A closer look shows me dark circles under eyes that are normally vivid and an abnormal paleness to the fair skin. When my eyes fall on the bandages peeking from underneath the sleeve of his tattered t-shirt, I can’t remain silent any longer. “What happened?”
Duo isn’t just startled by the question; he literally jumps out of his seat, his hand reaching for the gun lying on his desk in the blink of an eye. I remain calm, waiting for recognition as those eyes fall on me, raising my brows as he lets out a laugh that sounds edgy as hell. “Son of a bitch! Next time, can you just shoot me and spare me the heart attack? It’d be less stressful.” More collapsing into his chair than sitting, Duo runs both hands through his hair, wincing as he does so. I wait silently until his eyes come back to me. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked what happened. You weren’t supposed to be back for another week.”
“They decided to get started before we wanted,” Duo snorts, propping one booted foot on the trash can. “It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but we were caught completely off guard.”
He waves one hand at the only other chair in the room and I take it, already knowing I’m going to be late this morning. I don’t regret the change in my routine and am actually thankful for it as I watch Duo’s fingers begin to drum on the desk again.
I guess he realizes what he’s doing because he slams his hand down on the surface. “I’ve been up for about eighty-six hours and I’m overloaded on a dose of major adrenaline, just ignore it. I typed up a report and sent it to you and Une, so I’ll give you the short version.”
He jerks his hands up and then lets them fall back into his lap. I haven’t seen him this worked up in a while and I have the feeling something bad happened during this operation to have him so jittery. Sitting back in the chair, I say nothing, knowing he’s trying to word things correctly. “As far as the actual assignment goes, mission accomplished. We have plenty of evidence to make sure these guys go away for a long time. I was hoping to catch them actually in the middle of a sale, but that plan got shot to hell when a rival group decided to show up, leaving my team stuck in the middle of a gunfight. Would you like to guess what happened next in the wide world of flying bullets? I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” he adds ruefully, rubbing the gauze on his arm.
The scenario isn’t hard to imagine. The faction Duo’s team has been gathering evidence against is one of the largest weapons dealers in the L1 system. There’s no doubt a competitor would have been met with a barrage of bullets with Duo and his team unable to get out of way fast enough. I’m well aware Duo will get another commendation for this, one that will go in a drawer with all of the other medals and acclamations, but I avoid that and ask the question I dread and the only thing I can think of that would have Duo so upset. “Any losses?”
Apparently I’ve found the source of Duo’s agitation. As soon as I ask, he leaps from his seat and paces the small space behind his desk, his braid whipping around with enough force to send papers flying and knocking over the pencil holder, scattering its contents all over the desk. “I can’t believe they couldn’t wait another week before trying to move into the territory. If they hadn’t been so determined to get these guys off what they thought was their property, Lincoln would be going home to his family; because of stupid, misplaced pride, a fucking kid won’t be able to see his wife again.”
Sinking back into his seat, Duo’s head falls, his entire body giving off the despair he feels. “He was twenty-five, Tro, and only been married about eight months. One of the thugs saw a rival aiming and took a shot, and Lincoln got caught in the crossfire. I couldn’t even do anything. I wasn’t fucking fast enough. God damn it,” he explodes, grabbing a mug from the desk and hurling it against the wall with enough force to have it shattering on impact, spraying coffee all over the room yet somehow missing both me and Duo.
His anger drains as suddenly as it appeared and Duo sags in the chair, running hands over his face. “I was supposed to call his wife when we got back, but I couldn’t give her that kind of news on the phone. Made the team come back, those that aren’t in the hospital, and went to his house. As soon as she opened the door and saw me, she knew. I didn’t even say anything, she just crumbled. Damn it, Trowa, I broke her life apart without saying anything. All her hopes and dreams gone in a second because he wanted to be on my team.”
I get up and shut the door to Duo’s office, not wanting his agents to see him like this. I don’t have to ask and don’t need to look at the files to know this is the first time Duo has lost one of his agents. Telling him it had to happen eventually won’t make things any better. It’s a miracle he hasn’t lost anyone before this, due to a combination of his team’s amazing luck, determination, intense training, superb leadership and their own outstanding abilities. Skirting the desk, I ease a hip onto it so I can be right beside him. “You know it wasn’t your fault. If no one had interfered everything would have been fine. You have to know that.”
Slowly, Duo points at his head, “I know that up here, but in here it doesn’t matter,” his finger moves to his chest. “All I know is that a good agent, a damn good man, died last night and there was no reason behind it. If only I could have been faster.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” The venom in my voice surprises me as much as it does Duo. Needing to offer some sort of comfort, I reach over and smooth his hair with my hand, jerking away when he freezes. It’s not often I make a mistake around Duo, but this time it’s a large one and I need to divert his attention from my unexpected actions. “I guessing you tried to get to Lincoln,” I say, pointing at the bandage.
Duo continues to stare at me for several long seconds, and I fear he’s finally figured out something I don’t want him to know. Eventually, he jerks a shoulder, “Through and through,” he says quickly, referring to the gunshot as if it’s no more bothersome than a scratch. “No big deal. It’s clean.”
A quick nod and I retrieve my briefcase; afraid if I remain with him much longer I’ll do something far more dangerous than touch his head. The rare show of vulnerability makes me want to comfort him, and I fight against the need, aware it can be devastating for me if he ever figures out how I feel. “If you need a ride home I’ll arrange it. You don’t need to be driving your bike right now.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m good.”
His eyes are still on me, without the despair that had been in them earlier. “You’re in no condition to drive,” I say quickly, wishing he would stop searching my face. If he looks too close he’ll find the emotions that are always just under the surface
When he smiles it’s strained, but real. “You worried about me, Trowa?” He waves off whatever answer I could give, thankfully, stretching the muscles in his neck by twisting it to the side. “I’m gonna grab a few hours sleep here. Une wants me in some meeting at ten. Makes more sense to stay here than go home, just to turn around and come back again.”
The reasoning is sound, but I wonder if Duo really doesn’t want to go home because he would be alone with his thoughts, trying to figure out a way he could have been faster, but I don’t bring it up. It would be all too easy for me to offer the comfort I want desperately to give. Thinking of my own schedule, I lift a brow, “The Castillo case?”
“She didn’t say,” Duo says as he consults the message on his phone, “just that there have been some arguments on how to proceed. She thinks I might have an idea or two.”
I agree a fresh outlook is a good idea, and there is a side benefit of giving Duo something to think about instead of the death of a team member. The Castillo case has been at a standstill for weeks and no one knows how to proceed in order to stop a revolution. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter.” I’m stiffly formal in an attempt to see Duo as something other than the man I desire. If only things were that simple.
“I’ll be there. Hey, Trowa?” I turn from the door and see Duo running a hand over his hair, a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as nerves from a man with nerves of steel. “Thanks for coming in; I guess I needed to talk to someone.”
“Anytime you need to talk I’m willing to listen. That’s what friends are for, right?”
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