Title: Find Me
Rating: this part isn't that bad. maybe PG, PG-13
'...' : thinking
oh yes. i made up currency: credits. think 2 credits per dollar. no japanese in this part (i think?) so don't stress. hehe. err... what else. not sure.
-----FiND ME [2/?]
With a muted growl, Heero threw himself onto his hotel bed. Being a professional assassin had its benefits: he was in the Crystal Lake Hotel And Plaza at 400 credits per night, and the room was complete with big-screen tv, vidphone, computer, balcony, and bed fitted with satin sheets. Heero sighed and leaned back on the satin, letting himself sink into the billowy depths of the bed. In the silence of his room, he just wanted to think.
After he took a shower.
Heero felt dirty, and he decided the best way to relieve the feeling was to take a shower - a cold one, at that. Stripping his clothes on the way to the bathroom, he paused at the door, in his boxers.
'I miss you Wufei'.
His thought was interrupted by the persistent beeping of the vidphone. Heero scowled. He was positive he hadn't give the vidphone number to anyo-
Oh. Trowa would have it.
He stifled a groan as he threw on his clothes, grumbled, and reached out to connect the vidphone.
"Heero, you really need to stop thinking about him."
Trowa rolled his eyes - something he did often when talking to Heero. "I know you're thinking about Wufei. I'm telling you to stop. I sent you out there to have fun, relax, and forget about him."
"I *can't* forget," Heero growled. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's just... Trowa, I-"
There was a pause as the two friends understood each other and accepted what they understood.
"So," Trowa finally broke in. "Anything interesting happen today?"
Heero smirked. "I got accosted by a prostitute," he snickered. "Definitely not a part of my every day life."
Trowa's lip twitched. "You got what?"
Heero leaned back into the chair he had fallen into. "Hmm, this boy on the street was definitely coming on to me."
Trowa began to snicker. "And what did you do? What'd he look like?"
With a sneer, Heero retorted, "I didn't beat him or shoot him, if that's what you mean." He reached down to his waist and touched the gun in its holster. On second thought, he pulled it out and held it in his hands, lightly inspecting it. The perfect partner. No emotion, no unnecessary words, no flirting (Relena). Perfect. With quick, practiced ease, Heero broke it down in 5 seconds flat.
"Stressed?" Trowa asked with a half-grin.
"What did he look like?" Trowa repeated. He smiled lightly. "Maybe I might want to come out and see him for myself."
Heero smirked. Trowa was completely and utterly devoted to his boyfriend, Quatre Raberba Winner. The slim blond had captured the tall, stoic killer's heart, some year and a half before. They hadn't been apart since.
Heero's attention wandered over the pieces of the gun on the table next to the vidphone. Absently, he reached out and ran his fingers over a piece. Almost tenderly. His best friend.
"Big violet eyes," he finally said, distractedly. His eyes focused on a point some 2 feet above and to the left of the vidphone screen. "Long chestnut hair, braided, falling completely down his back. Skinny. Nice abs. Not very tall - maybe about my height." His hand was still brushing over the gun barrel. "Long legs, lanky, high cheekbones, soft lips-"
"And how would you know that?" Trowa interrupted, amused. "Seems like you spent quite a while looking at him, eh, Yuy-kun?"
"Well, Barton-kun," Heero drawled, flushing slightly. "He *was* twined around me. And staring at me. And trying to seduce me."
"And you wouldn't be seduced," Trowa finished flatly. He grinned. "Yuy-kun, you're incorrigible."
"Don't incorrige me," Heero replied to the old joke listlessly. He stood up, pushing the chair back, and began to walk around his room. "How long will Treize-sama let me off for?"
"Une-sama is the one you should be asking about," Trowa pointed out. "Treize-sama doesn't care; he'll contact you when he needs you. Lady Une is the one who wants a little more order in his life."
"Including inserting herself," Heero added. Une's intentions towards Treize were very translucent to the rest of the team. And although Treize was the commander of the team, Une was the one who actually commanded.
Turning, Heero an eyebrow. "You're picking up a lot of random Japanese words," he pointed out.
"Your fault," Trowa shrugged. Then, with a lift of the corner of his mouth, "things like 'omae o korosu' are hard *not* to pick up on, Yuy."
"Nope. You're not good enough."
Heero began to laugh. "You're a good friend," he said simply.
Trowa nodded acquiescence. "So are you."
"Don't be late," Trowa reminded Heero before leaving the room. "Meeting's at 1500 hours sharp, okay?"
"Aa." Heero turned from the door and looked across the small room. A young Chinese man sat in the far corner, staring back defiantly. Before Heero could say a word, the young many started on a blistering string of curses - in Chinese.
Heero let him run on for 5 minutes straight, face impassive. At one point, he glanced at him watch: 13:22. Plenty of time. Plenty of time to make him or break him. Certainly enough time to let him rant and rave for a few minutes.
"Enough," Heero finally said, harshly. The boy glared, but shut up. "What's your name?"
"Chang Wufei," the said worthy declared.
"Points for you," Heero murmured. "You can speak English." He began to walk closer to Wufei. "Well then, Chang-kun; do you know why you're here?"
Wufei looked at him in disgust, mutely shaking his head.
"Alright, then." Heero's lip twitched. Slowly and deliberately, he began to pace. After a moment, he stopped at the bulletproof, non-openable window, gazing out.
"Are you going to tell me," after a pause, disdainfully. Not a question, a comment.
"Aa." Turn on a heel, face the boy. 'Not a boy', Heero reflected, 'about my age'. Pacing for a moment. "We've seen you fight," he began. Look at Wufei. Life the corner of his lip slightly. "Natural born killer." Pronounced, articulated, accented. Heero turned to face out the window again. They were on the 17th story; across the busy city street was... the sky. San Francisco had an abundance of low buildings and this one rose above those surrounding. The blue ocean sparked in the distance.
Wufei made a noncommittal sound.
Suddenly, Heero whirled around to face Wufei. "You were about to go to jail for murder. You killed 3 members of a gang opposing yours. Most likely you would get life-imprisonment, or the death penalty. We're offering you a way out. In fact," he paused for a moment, letting what he'd said sink in, "right now, your choices are to join with us, or to die." To prove his point, Heero pulled his gun out of its holster and calmly leveled it at Wufei who, to his credit, didn't flinch.
Wufei struggled to get up for a moment - he'd been bound hand and foot - and finally succeeded. The bindings on his ankles gave him a little leeway to walk and walk he did, until he was face to face with the business end of the gun's barrel. Heero eyed him coolly, the gun immobile.
"And what would I be joining?" Wufei asked calmly. Black eyes met Prussian blue, both sets cold and hard. He slid forward one more step, and the gun was now pressing against his loose blue black tank top. The Chinese boy did not move a muscle. Both stared at each other for endless moments, trying to stare the other down, close enough to feel the other's breath.
A sharp click rang in the air as Heero cocked the gun.
His statement grew slightly bemused as Wufei's showed his startlement. "No, I hadn't cocked it before. I have now."
Wufei pinched his lips together slightly, mildly annoyed at having been surprised, even slightly. "What would I be joining?" he finally repeated.
A moment hung in the air. Calculatedly, Heero turned his back on Wufei and began to gently wave the gun around. His forefinger still in the trigger position. He began to walk around, like they were two friends in a mild discussion.
Wufei didn't even bother trying to jump at Heero. He'd be dead before he moved half a meter, and he knew it. Instead, he simply waited in the middle of the room, for Heero to respond.
"Operation S." The voice cut through the silence. Heero turned and his mouth quirked, as if the closest he could get to a smile. "We're a team of assassins. Based on San Francisco, of course, but we do anything in the country. We're good," he added, without a trace of boastfulness. He was stating a fact and Wufei knew it.
"And you're asking me to join... why?" Wufei asked flatly, realistically.
A shrug from Heero. "If we didn't get new members every once in a while, how would we replace the ones who got killed?" he replied nonchalantly.
Quiet. "I see."
Heero had since returned to the window; apparently there was something fascinating outside. Slowly and with some difficulty, Wufei joined him at the window. Wordlessly, Heero pointed down to the street, where teenagers about their age were playing on scooters, some with backpacks or messenger bags or binders and purses. Obviously going home or somewhere after school. A glance at his watch told Heero it was 1435. 'School ends early', he reflected. 'Probably starts early, too, though'.
"Why do you trust me?" Wufei said. He, too, was looking down on the street. His words were calm, but physically Heero could see that he was slightly stiff.
Heero didn't answer. Instead, his attention was riveted to two teens, maybe 13 or 14, walked together, hand in hand. Two boys. One had a slightly bulky backpack, and the other had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. One couldn't tell from the 17th floor of a building, but it was obvious they were smiling. Then, one of the boys stopped and lightly tugged on his boyfriend's hand, who turned and faced him. He received a kiss for his actions, and soon they began to walk away. Heero watched them until they were completely out of his line of vision.
Another glance at the watch. 1451. Meeting in 9 minutes. Ryoukai.
Without a word, Heero drew a pocket knife out of his pocket. Wufei eyed him warily. With a single swipe, Heero sliced the bonds on Wufei's wrists. Dropping to a knee, he soon divested Wufei of those on his ankles. Wufei momentarily rubbed his wrists to get the circulation back and to rub out the rope marks. Heero returned the pocket knife to his pocket. He held out the gun, handle first, which he had been holding lightly the whole time.
Eyes locked. Minutes passed. Wufei finally reached out and took the gun.
"Yours now," Heero said simply. "I have a meeting to go to now. Go out the door, to the end of the hallway, take a left. First office on the right is the Commander's office. Wait there. The meeting shouldn't take longer than half an hour." He turned and walked to the door. "And why do I trust you?" he added, not turning his head, but stopping. "Why shouldn't I? You're just like me."
Wufei raised the gun with a steady hand.
"Don't do that," Heero said softly. The door opened, and he walked out, leaving the door ajar.
Wufei stood in the room for another 5 minutes, just staring where Heero had been. Then he resolutely walked out the door, down the hall, and seated himself in a chair in the Commander's office. He would wait.
Heero soon disconnected with Trowa and went to the shower he had planned on. In the steamy water, he let his mind relax. And whenever his mind relaxed, it had an unerring tendency to return to memories of Wufei.
'K'so', Heero swore to himself. 'Trowa's right: I need to think of something else'. He viciously scrubbed his hair with the shampoo. 'Maybe I should just hire the hooker and fuck him silly. Would that make me feel better?' He didn't bother answering himself, knowing the answer already. No, of course not. The only thing that would make him feel better was to have Wufei back in his arms. Where he belonged.
After nearly scalding his skin off, Heero felt somewhat better. He dried himself and dressed quickly, then went to the ornate night table next to the bed to pull out the hotel's dinner menu. Then he checked his watch. Something told him 12:48 wasn't a reasonable time to go down to dinner.
Heero sighed. He was hungry now. Muttering under his breath, he reached into the drawer and hauled out the 'Hotel Guide', which included a list of nearby restaurants and delivery places. Maybe there would be some place that delivered past 1 in the morning. Preferably oriental cuisine. Although he'd spent half his life in the United States by now, he still couldn't accustom himself to the food.
Finally, after some time of searching, he found a small Japanese take-out place that would deliver at unholy hours. Now cranky, he called up and gave them his order. They promised to be there in 15 minutes.
It was already 1:27 at this point. Wonderful.
And of course the food didn't arrive until 2:04. Heero glared at the delivery boy, paid the 15 credits and tipped him 2. Then he sat and ate. The silence in the room was complete, save for his quiet munching on noodles and suchlike.
Back to Part 1
On to Part 3