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"Bedraggled "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Rating: R Warnings: Post EW, language, violence, yaoi Summary: Zechs discovers a pest in his mansion. After careful consideration, he decides against calling the exterminator Pairings: 6x2
"Bedraggled "
Part 1.
"Dun matter what I look like, cause nobody is gonna see me." Don't ever say that, even silently to yourself. Something momentous is bound to happen right after you utter that phrase. A highly visible event is inevitable in your immediate future if ever you mutter such a thing. Duo Maxwell shoved aside the sensuously soft sheets. He got up off the gigantic, luxurious bed, and scratched at his scalp, feeling dried sweat in the tangled mess of his hair. Seeing himself simultaneously in several mirrors was unavoidable. The room was full of them. Over the dressing table, polished to a high gloss. Full length, glittering on the mahogany door. Gold framed on the wall. Multiple angled views of himself, all shitty looking. A damp, ribbed tank top, clinging to his chest. Crumpled boxers grabbing at his crotch. Blech. He took a hesitant step forward. Shaky. Something the cat dragged in? Nurp. Any self-respecting stray feline would have left him rotting in the alley, preferring your average dead rodent as a better choice. "Maxwell, yer a mess," he growled, testing the status of his laryngitis. Better. At the washstand, he grabbed some dripping handfuls of cold water, swiping several over his face, and supping a couple more. He brushed his teeth. He could swallow, he found, which was a distinct improvement over the last couple of days. Po had said so. The steroidals and antibiotics would make him feel better in no time, she had assured him in her calm, cheerful, 'I'm the doctor, don't argue with me' tone of voice. She'd been right. Hey, who knew? Yeah, his status now could be upgraded from 'nearly dead' to 'ineligible for burial in the next twenty-four hours'. Woo hoo. 'Go me!' he told himself. Duo staggered across the marble tiled floor toward the massive window, to steal his first glimpse of the glorious dawn. It glistened on the edge of the world in dewy tones of rose and gilt, drifted over the perfectly clipped lawn and ornamental shrubbery, toyed with the fragrance of the camellias, and then settled upon the softly frothing fountain. A granite Nereid disporting herself with a stony goldfish greeted him. Pathetic when your nearest friend and most faithful pet were statuary. He wondered, if he took the journey piecemeal, pausing along the way to catch his breath, whether he could make it down the long gravel drive, to the gate and back without falling on his ass? He wanted to fetch the newspaper. It made him feel gawdsawful lazy to wait for the mansion staff to bring it in when they arrived for work. Besides, that wouldn't be for several hours yet. Duo opened the French doors and stepped hesitantly onto the dimly lit lawn. The damp grass felt refreshing against his bare feet. Sighing over a deep inhalation, he commenced the outward leg of his trip. xXxXx He really felt quite soggy. He was newly returned from the Mars Colony this very hour. Surprise. Nobody knew of his arrival, and he meant to keep it that way, until he had gathered his wits about him. After all, this visit was not intended for his pleasure and amusement. Quite the contrary. Heads were going to roll. Preferably not his. After the tedious weeks-long space journey, he had solo-piloted his own shuttle down from L2, arrived on Earth in the dead of night, and surreptitiously ensconced himself at his estate. This property belonged solely to Zechs, having been willed to him by his late great-grandfather. It was his favorite place on the planet, a pleasant refuge, and he relished the privacy. He was furious over the Martian Project. Mankind's greatest enterprise, and it was pathetically under-supported. Transport was irregular, supplies ridiculously inadequate. Personnel, brilliant scientists and technologists, lacked the basic necessities of life. Rationing was the rule. Equipment already was outdated and faltering in function. The very life support structure itself threatened to fall to pieces around them. On the brink of the unexplored universe, rapidly increasing entropy was their worst enemy. The United Earth Sphere were going to listen to Milliardo Peacecraft. The message was simple. Pay up or shut down. If the governments of the world intended to coward out of the grand enterprise, that wouldn't keep private individuals from pursuing their own goals on Mars. Which could prove dangerous for Earth's future. No. What they needed on the red planet was collaboration on every level. Government needed to shoulder their fair portion of the burden. The diplomatic dogs weren't going to like the message, he knew. He glanced at himself assessingly in the nearest mirror. He looked a bit frayed around the edges. Not yet ready for a public appearance. He needed a bit of downtime, rest and food. A day or two to acclimatize. To wring the dampness out of his hair, as it were. He wanted to be at his best. And then he would fall upon the crafty political bastards like an avalanche. A whole mountainside of snow. Wet, sticky snow, he told himself, reaching for a towel. A sudden flash of movement outside caught his attention. What the devil? Stealthy motions. Someone was out there, moving in that peculiar manner that signaled covert action. Snarling territorially, Zechs unlocked his bureau drawer, studied his private arsenal. Coldly analytical, he chose a weapon. Then he commenced pursuit in earnest. xXxXx Heading to get the daily newspaper out of the front entrance delivery drop box. Assuming at this early hour, that nobody would notice him in his skivvies, he was scantily attired in rumpled undershirt and shorts. As he approached the gate, the nearest neighbors' estate across the main road came into view. Huh. What the fuck? Something illicit was happening over there. He really didn't want to know. Really, really wanted to turn around, stagger back to the house, fall into bed and put two or three large, fluffy pillows over his head. Instead he crouched behind the large brick pillar of the security gate. His head spun, his stomach churned. He pressed his hand into his aching side and waited. A bunch of shifty eyed guys across the way, there, were bringing things out of the neighboring house. Loading up some plain white vans. Nondescript, unmarked vehicles, with no tags. There were seven men he counted. He could tell by the way they moved and glared about them, that they were doing something illegal. Breaking and entering. Burglary. Art, antiques, jewelry, expensive electronics. Grand theft. Well, shit. Absolutely no way he could cross the main road without being seen by the baddies. He scoped-out his side of the street. There was a guard's station at the main gate. Crouching behind the shrubbery, Duo slouched over to it. Scarcely larger than a phone booth. Empty and locked, of course. Digital device. It took Maxwell a full three minutes to break into the security mechanism without destroying it. After all, this stuff belonged to Queeny. Or her family, same difference. Duo didn't want to repay his hostess' generous hospitality by breaking her stuff. Keeping a cold eye on the miscreants across the road, he crept into the guard box and lifted the phone receiver. Dead as the proverbial doornail. Maxwell glared at the complicated switch board, labeled with a complexity of incomprehensible abbreviations. He was gasping, sweating now, like a runner at the end of a marathon. He felt beads of perspiration form in his axillary hair, drip together to run in trickles across the flesh over his pectorals, causing his nipples to itch and sting. With a shivering hand on the communications device, he started depressing buttons at random, hoping for a human response anywhere down the phone line. Nothing. Nada. Nope. Nor there neither. Too bad, sucker. Just as he was about to give up on this particular futile endeavor, there came an electronic crackle over the phone line. "Hullo?" he muttered hoarsely. "Someone there?" He felt an abrupt twinge in the target area between his shoulder blades. Someone was sneaking up behind him. Heart pounding he swung around hastily to scan his rear guard, but the box he stood within blocked his view. Carefully he inched his head out the door. xXxXx The other moved like a professional assassin, silent and skilled. Whoever he was, he was leaving, heading for the front gate. Mission accomplished, whatever that had been, the man was escaping. Not if Zechs had anything to say about it. xXxXx No reply. Yeah, right. He replaced the receiver. Then suddenly swung around, confronting the covert enemy. Duo was groggy, sluggish. Way too slow. He started to dodge, but the confines of the guard box felt restrictive. His face hit something solid, densely black, and he abruptly joined the darkness of the infinite oblivious universe. ~ * ~ |
