Type K: Part 11

by Kira Maxwell

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise, not me. I don’t own the G-boys, so please don’t sue me. You wouldn’t get anything anyway.
Warnings: Yaoi, Yuri, Het, Drug abuse, Gore, Strong language, NCS, Violence
Pairings: 13xR, implied 1x2, 3x4, 5+R, 9x11
Notes: This part is sort of dedicated to Floredai, since she had it on her Christmas list over in the General forum.. hope you enjoy.


Part 11

“No, Zechs. You freeze,” the brown-haired woman said, calmly rising to her feet with her gun trained on his forehead. The platinum-haired man recovered quickly, diving to the floor and slamming against the desk Une stood behind. His weight sent the desk sliding wildly back, hitting Une. She slammed against the floor, the breath knocked out of her.

Scrambling for his gun, Zechs jumped to his feet and pinned down Une’s prone form, pressing his gun hard against her temple. Her brown eyes opened wide and rolled over to look at him intently. She was breathing hard, her body almost frail beneath his masculine form.

“You bitch,” Zechs hissed, hate and anger mixing in his sharp blue gaze. “You stole her. You stole her.”

Une shifted beneath his weight, groaning a little. “Stole her? I didn’t steal her. She came back because I treated her right.”

The brown-haired woman had struck a tender spot. He pressed his gun’s barrel harder into her temple, making her wince. Zechs was too angry to notice when Une’s eyes flicked up and looked at something behind him.

He didn’t notice, that is, until he felt a sharp pain around his neck, much like the sharp cutting sensation of fishing wire. Struggling like an animal, he tried to throw his attacker off and failed, stumbling to his feet and slamming back against a set of filing cabinets. Slinging his head right and left, he only succeeded in making the garrote cut further into his throat.

Zechs began to grow dizzy from lack of oxygen. His movements became strained and sluggish. During each of his struggles, his attacker clung to him tightly from behind, their grip like an iron vise, the sharp metal wire cutting into his flesh. He could feel a faint trickle of blood oozing out from under the wire. Finally, he collapsed on the ground, struggling a few more times and then laying still. The last thing he saw in his blurred vision was Une and somebody else standing over him and looking down, a somebody with short blue hair.


*~*~*

Relena tentatively reached out to touch the tiny jewelry box sitting in front of her. Her fingertips sought a brief touch of the cool band, the shiny diamond, her face twisted in an expression of complete shock.

“You want to … marry me?”

“Well, yes,” Treize answered, looking a trifle amused. Marry Treize? Could she do it? Why would she want to…?

“Yes,” she answered, surprising herself. She resolutely slipped the ring on her finger and looked up at him. “I’ll marry you, Mr. Khushrenada.”


*~*~*

Slipping past the city police was easy for Quatre and Wufei. They simply flashed a couple of fake Bureau I.D.’s at the chief and strode right in, regardless of the chunky, gray-haired man sputtering about jurisdiction and warrants.

There were uniformed officers crawling all over the small morgue building, which had been roped off with yellow caution tape. As the blonde and Wufei strolled by, Quatre spotted them wheeling out a stretcher with a body bag on it towards a waiting ambulance. He winced a little.

“You all right?” the Chinese boy reiterated for the fifth time since they’d left the warehouse. Quatre growled irritably.

“Yes. I am fine. Just keep your mind on the job, okay? We need to get those notes and samples.” Taken aback a little, Wufei nodded and went silent.

With Trowa’s instructions in hand, they easily found the cramped laboratory hidden in the back of the morgue itself. The police, taking it for a locked storage closet, hadn’t bothered searching it. Quatre shook his head a little at the inept law enforcement. No wonder groups like his boss’s thrived so well.

The cops were utter fools.

Piled up neatly on top of the plastic boxes were Barton’s notes, instructions, and results of testing on the drug, all in marked manila folders. Quatre placed this in his suitcase while Wufei began loading the plastic bins on a dolly that’d been left in the tiny room for just this purpose. They went about their work silently and methodically, until the last of the drug and the notes had been collected and the entire room was bare.

The blonde glanced over the room a final time. “Did we get everything?”

“Yea,” Wufei answered. “We did.”

Gently tilting back the metal dolly, Wufei began to wheel the drugs out to the car, Quatre close behind.


*~*~*

Trowa sat alone in the small room that’d been given to him for the time being. There was a bed stripped of sheets, a table and a chair, and an adjoining bathroom. He could still hear the guards talking outside as they had been for the past hour.

“Think the boss’ll let him live?”

“No doubt. He’s important to Mr. Khushrenada. Isn’t it obvious? A two-guard detail…”

Then they’d fallen silent as another pair of footsteps passed by, probably because they shouldn’t have been talking in the first place. He sat in the chair with his hands folded before him, staring listlessly off into space. He was reliving his moments with Cathy, mostly, the red-haired nurse now dead because of his own folly. So much like his mother, Cathy’d been. How could he have not seen it before?

“Trowa, don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. You go get some food and rest and I’ll wake up to take care of you in the morning. Okay, honey?”

“Trowa, get out of here! Run!”

He shook his head a little, resting his head in his gaunt hands. They were a doctor’s hands, long and delicate and strong with tapered fingers and short-clipped nails. His fingers were bony and gaunt. Absently he reflected it was because he hadn’t been eating much lately.

“Trowa, you should eat something. Would you like to share my lunch with me? I brought an extra tuna sandwich.”

God, when will she leave me alone? Trowa growled in frustration, clenching his hands a little. When will she settled into her grave like she’s supposed to? She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead!

Somewhere in the back of Dr. Barton’s brain, a clinical part of his mind was busy noticing and explaining the signs of grief. Shock and denial? Check. Emotional release? He didn’t do emotional release. Perhaps it was the acute stinging in his eyes of what should be tears, or the tightening ache in his chest. Loneliness? He’d suffered that all his life. Pain? Another constant. Panic? No, he wasn’t panicking. He’d never panic …

Guilt? Definitely. Anger? Oh yes. Anger at Treize for what he did, anger at Quatre for pulling the trigger, anger at himself for letting it happen…

Trowa folded his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. He didn’t want to wake up ever again.

~TBC~


Kira Maxwell

KiraxMaxwell@msn.com

On to Part 12!