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"Incendiary"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, wrongful imprisonment, Newtypes,
internment camps, eventual rape/noncon Pairings: 3x4, 1x2, 5xS Summary: A group of wealthy college kids are murdered.
There are no witnesses, but there is a suspect. From within the simmering
sludge of irrational fear and prejudice, conspiracy theories are born
and innocent people pay the price. "Incendiary" Trowa slid his ID card into the electronic reader and waited for the prompt to scan his fingerprint. He pressed his thumb against the pad until the red light flashed green. A beep and a click and he swiftly grabbed the door handle and swung it open, letting himself into the building. The complex was large and cold, the hum of electricity reverberated off the steel walls of the building. Usually, the soft, white noise soothed him, but today, it just grated on his nerves. A few employees from other offices in the building nodded a curt greeting to him as he passed. He gave a slight dip of his head in response, but didn't even bother to glance more than a fraction of a second in their direction. He was barely on a second name basis with any of these people, though Quatre often scolded him for being anti-social. It wouldn't kill you to be a little more polite, you know, his husband's soft voice admonished in his head. He tended to agree, but this morning, he was not in the mood. He stood in front of the glass elevator and punched the arrow button that pointed up, huffing in irritation. It lit up and he waited, not quite patiently, tapping his foot on the marble floor. The light blinked out and Trowa watched as the glass dome slid smoothly down, lining up with the ground floor. There was a ding and the doors parted. He stood to the side to let the two people inside off and then stepped in, punching the button for the third floor where his office was located. He stared up through the translucent ceiling, observing the large cables and pulleys as the doors slid closed and the lift began its ascent. He ignored the slight lurch in his stomach, deep in thought. He knew this case had been difficult for Quatre. He could imagine what it was like for him to watch one of his husband's clients throw themselves at him. It must have been a thousand times worse to know what that person was thinking every time you crossed their path. Trowa knew with utmost certainty that he would be crawling out of his skin with rage if their positions were reversed. To his credit, Quatre showed remarkable restraint during the small handful of times he'd had to deal with Edna Seigried. But, boy, did he have an impressive, and rather colorful vocabulary for hours afterward. Trowa chuckled to himself as he remembered his tiny husband, baby face contorted in anger, pacing a hole in the floor, spitting out a tirade of curses, in English, Arabic, French, and Japanese. His hands curled into his fists as he ranted and raved. Trowa himself learned a few new words during those times and he suspected Duo had something to do with Quatre's extensive repertoire of curse words. The elevator reached the third floor and he stepped out into the dim hallway, walking towards his office. A florescent light flickered over his head and he felt the first twinges of a headache behind his eye. Halfway down, he stopped short, frozen in surprise. The door to his office was opened slightly, light from within spilling out into the hall. Trowa glanced behind him then back at the door, looking for any sign of an impending attack. He leaped silently to the side and pressed himself against the wall adjacent to his office. Instinct setting in, he reached into his jacket for his sidearm, unclipping it from its holster. He held it, muzzle pointed slightly upward as he slid along the wall, stopping just short of the open door, ears piqued for any sound that might give him an inkling of what he was dealing with. He heard the muted sounds of a person moving around, the soft swishing of fabric. He glanced back down the hallway, both directions, braced himself and angled his pistol, then stepped out in front of the door. He kicked it open all the way and pointed his gun in the vicinity of the noises. The person inside jumped in surprise, an item in their hands dropping to the floor as Trowa rapidly assessed the situation. The item wasn't a gun, it was a picture frame. A quick glance and Trowa recognized it as the photo of Quatre and himself, one that Duo took, on their wedding day. "Oh! Trowa. There you are!" Trowa's instinctual fight mode was a little slow on the uptake and he cocked his gun as he took stock of the intruder. Female, about five foot six, age approximately mid-fifties. His mind clicked and recognition filtered in. Killer instincts making way for dull shock. Still, he kept the gun pointed at her. Eyes narrowed, he hissed, "What are you doing in my office? How did you get into the building?" Only authorized personnel were admitted into the complex before nine thirty. This woman was not authorized personnel. Surprise wearing off despite the firearm still pointed at her head, Edna Seigried bent down to retrieve the picture frame she dropped. She glanced at it distastefully, but set it back on top of Trowa's desk. She leaned against the edge, in what she apparently surmised was a seductive pose, crossing one dainty ankle over the other, and tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, Trowa," she tutted. "Is the gun really necessary? It's only me." "You didn't answer my question." There was a gleam in the cold, blue eyes. "I have my methods." She smirked with painted lips. "That's not an answer." She rolled her eyes. "I'm an efficient woman, Mr. Barton. Especially when there's something I want." Trowa didn't budge. "I'm still waiting." He kept the gun pointed at her, though he knew he wasn't likely going to use it now. She leveled her gaze on him. Then she reached into her hand bag and dug around. Trowa tensed his arms, trigger finger steady. She pulled out a small, plastic card and showed it to him. It was an ID card, identical to his own. His sharp eyes made out the tiny picture in the corner and recognized it as Mrs. Seigried. She twiddled it between her fingers. "I hacked into the building's security system and added my ID to the authorized personnel roster. I can go in and out any time I please." Trowa's eyes widened slightly, surprised. Damn, she really was resourceful. "How did you get into my office?" She groped around in her bag again and pulled out a key ring. She sifted through about fifteen different metal keys before she selected one, holding it up between her thumb and forefinger. The rest of the keys jingled together as she shook them in front of her face, smug. "I stole your husband's key." Anger was beginning to set in. He lowered his gun and held out his hand. "Give it to me." She pulled the keys away and held them behind her back. Coy, she asked, "What if I don't?" Trowa pointed the gun at her right leg with one hand, the other still extended out in front of him. "If you don't, I'll put a bullet in your leg, and then I will notify Preventer's Headquarters, the director of which I am personally acquainted, and they will have you apprehended and charged with felonious breaking and entering and fraud." Her calm, superior demeanor faltered, worry flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced with a mask of indifference. She cleared her throat. "You think I don't have the power to fight those charges in court? Do you know how many lawyers my husband has at his disposal?" Trowa calmly holstered his pistol. She wasn't going anywhere. He was blocking the door. If she made a run for it, she'd have a hell of a time getting past him. "I'd love to know how you'd explain the reasoning behind what you've done to your husband and his lawyers." The color drained from her face and she wavered on her feet. But she was not one to be outdone. She tried a different approach. "Trowa -" "Mr. Barton." She dropped her gaze to the floor, feigning remorse. "Mr. Barton," she whispered. Her eyes rose to meet his, suddenly soft, contrite. It looked outrageously out of place on her face. "Surely, you must know I meant no harm. I was only having a bit of fun." She sidled closer, hips swaying under the sheath of her red pencil skirt. She was going to try to seduce her way out of this. Trowa scoffed, far past his threshold of tolerance for this woman. He stood his ground, immobile, eyes hard. She approached him and lifted her chin, attempting to woo him with doe eyes. Her hands rose, red-tipped fingers tracing a button on his suit jacket. "Maybe...there's a way I can make it up to you?" Trowa glared down at her. "I don't think so. In fact," he turned away, walking around to stand behind his desk, and booted up his computer. "Your behavior is grounds for dismissal of your case. I'm making a record of your conduct and the reason I'm dropping you. Find someone else to help you." She gasped. "Tr - Mr. Barton, please! I - I promise I won't do it again. I'm just...I'm having a hard time right now and I've been so lonely. Please give me another chance." She sniffled, turning on the waterworks. Trowa regarded her in silence, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Seigried, but I'm afraid I can't help you anymore." He bent down and began typing up a dismissal report. "I'm closing your case as of today." She stood stock still in outrage. "How dare you? Do you know who I am? I can shut your business down within minutes. You'll never work in this town again!" Seething, she reached into her purse to pull out her phone. "Be sure you tell them how you got into the building and why you broke in." Her arm dropped, defeated. She watched him, eyes imploring him not to do this. "Is there no way I can fix this?" "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Seigried." He gestured towards the door. "I'm sure you can see yourself out." For a brief moment, Trowa thought he saw an expression of genuine emotion flicker across her face, but in an instant it was gone. Her face contorted with rage, lips curling back over her teeth. "You'll regret this, Mister Barton," she hissed. Her eyes darkened beneath lowered brows, voice dropping a full octave. She stepped closer, leaning over the desk, face inches from Trowa's. "I told you I am an efficient woman, Mr. Barton. You think I haven't been able to find information about you? About your husband?" Her eyes shined in triumph as Trowa's widened in alarm. She grinned, twisted her face into an ugly parody of itself. "Oh yes. I know things about you. About you both. I know of the...talents...your little husband possesses. You wouldn't want that getting out, would y -" She was cut short as Trowa's hand snapped out, quick as a whip, and seized her by the throat. His eyes were black with rage. There was a click as the previously holstered gun rested against her temple. When had he gotten that out? She hadn't even seen him reach for it. He snarled in her face, teeth gnashing. "Madame, I'd advise you never to speak a word of what you know, or think you know. You may know people in high places, but so do I. I know people who can make you disappear and I can see to it that you are never...ever...found. Are we clear?" Fear flashed across her eyes and she trembled beneath his hands. Mouth gaping like a fish, she struggled to form words. The hand around her throat tightened. "Are. We. Clear?" Her head nodded frantically, up and down, eyes bugging out. "Ye - yes, yes, we're clear." "Good." He released her and gestured to the door again, putting his gun away. "Now, get the fuck out of my office." Visibly collecting herself, she pulled Quatre's key off the ring and placed it on the desk. Turning, she scurried out of the room on shaking legs, expensive heels wobbling. He waited until he could hear the clear sound of the elevator swishing closed before he went back to his computer and finalized the report, heart pounding in his chest. Oh, but that felt good. Even better now that she was out of their lives. He reached for his phone and pressed the first number on his speed dial. On the third ring, Quatre picked up. Trowa smirked into the receiver. "Babe, put on your sexiest little number. We're celebrating tonight. I've got great news."
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