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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 was vehemently against Quatre showing up to the press conference. His anxiety over the safety of his husband was growing exponentially with each passing hour. The protests had doubled since last night and they seemed to be getting more and more violent. Stories were breaking about those who were either known Newtypes, or suspected of being one, being beaten in the streets and a few had disappeared completely. Law enforcement and Parliament, with the exception of Zander, who seemed to be on a one-man mission to invoke rioting and violence against Newtypes, were urging people to stay calm, to protest peacefully, and not engage in any illegal activity. Downtown London was immersed with loud, angry protesters, and an increasing number of police. Vandals were out in full-force, breaking windows, flipping cars, and setting fire to dumpsters. He'd essentially been glued to the telescreen trying to keep himself up-to-date on the news. At the latest, some of the demonstrators had been spotted throwing rocks and bottles at the officers who'd been deployed to try to keep tensions under control. There were a number of already-known Newtypes speaking out against the violence, urging any and all other Newtypes to steer clear of the area, take refuge inside their homes, and to not engage in any counter-demonstrations. Wufei had cursed, rather colorfully, when Trowa called him to let him know what was going on. He'd said he would call Une and then he and Sally would likely be heading home early. Quatre was not happy about that, but Trowa was secretly relieved. This was spiraling out of control and they would need their best and brightest to tackle this issue and bring about a peaceful resolution. Earlier that afternoon, Parliament and the Preventers had notified the public of an upcoming press conference that would take place that evening, and Quatre, stubborn as a mule, insisted he attend, despite Trowa's attempts to talk him out of it. To be honest, he was terrified. Terrified that they would be attacked on the way there, attacked while they were there, attacked on the way home. Call him paranoid, but he didn't want to take any chances when it came to the safety of his husband. But Quatre was hell-bent on doing what he could, using his extensive negotiating experience as a colony representative to try and bring about an end to the violence. Trowa knew he'd lost the battle before it even began. Quatre would never allow himself to be kept away when people needed help. And staying out of something that deeply involved his people was tantamount to criminal, in his opinion. They'd argued about it for the better part of the afternoon, Quatre narrowing his eyes and stomping from the room when he'd caught Trowa thinking about just tying him to a chair until this blew over. Currently, Quatre was pacing a hole in the living room floor, trying to convince Duo that he and Heero did not need to fly all the way out there from San Francisco. Trowa smirked. If anyone could out-stubborn Quatre, it was Duo. "Duo, seriously. It'd probably be over by the time you got here. What could you even do about it anyway?" Trowa wanted to interject, as he watched molital cocktails bounce off the shields of the riot police, that that probably wasn't an accurate representation of when this was likely to end. Apparently, Duo thought the same. "I - I know it looks bad, Duo, but - No...no! I just don't want you guys to come all the way out here for nothing - Yes, I know it doesn't look like nothing, but -" Trowa watched a police car being rocked, then tipped onto its side by a group of teenagers. Ah, yes. The hoodlums were out to play. It was like they just sat around waiting for something like this to happen so they could go out and cause trouble. Then, there was the more hardcore subgroup of rabble-rousers, the anarchists. Trowa knew that the normal trouble makers were quite different from the anarchists. Everyday, run-of-the-mill rabble-rousers were simply opportunists and often just did it for fun. Anarchists were organized. Their demonstrations were premeditated, well-thought out beforehand, and usually had a specific cause behind it. They were also much better at not getting caught. It seemed Quatre realized he was not going convince Duo not to come. He sighed, resignation in the slump of his shoulders. "Fine. Do what you want. I suppose I'll see you soon then." He hung up and tossed the phone down on the couch, glaring at Trowa as if this was his fault. "What? I didn't tell him to come." "You're glad he is, though." "Is that so bad?" "Trowa," the blond threw up his hands. "I don't want our friends to be involved in this and possibly get hurt." "Sounds familiar." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means that's exactly how I feel about you getting involved." Quatre opened his mouth to argue, but Trowa shut him down before he could get a word out. "And don't you dare try to tell me it's different." Quatre seemed to think better of it, his mouth snapping shut. He dragged himself over to the sofa and dropped down with a groan, head in his hands. "This sucks." Trowa walked over to him and knelt down at his feet, placing his hands on the blond's knees. "Baby, there's nothing wrong with wanting to protect those we love. Just understand that that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm trying to protect you." "But -" "No, no "buts". Yes, it's risky for anyone to be out in this, but the one who faces the most danger is you." Quatre studied him, read him easily. "You're scared." Trowa snorted. "I'm terrified! I'm afraid to let you out of my sight. I'm afraid to let you step one foot out that door. If anything were to happen to you..." He shook his head, stomach twisting at the thought. "I don't know what I'd do." Quatre's eyes softened. He reached out to stroke a sharp cheekbone. "I love you." Trowa placed his hand over the blond's, turning his head to plant a kiss into the warm palm. "I love you, so much. More than anything." There was a catch to his voice, a wave of emotion. "I'm so scared I won't be able to keep you safe." Nodding, Quatre leaned forward, pressing his lips against Trowa's forehead. "I know. I'm scared, too. But can you understand why I have to do this? These are my people and they've done nothing to deserve this. I can't just sit by while this hate, this...this injustice goes on. I'm in a position where I can make a difference and I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try." He sighed. "Yes, I can understand that. And I know what you're capable of accomplishing. I know you're not some delicate flower who can't take care of himself." Winking, he said, "I know firsthand how badass you can be." Quatre tipped his head back, laughing. "And don't you forget it." Trowa turned serious. "But I also want you to defer to my judgment. I know you don't always see the big picture -" He put a hand up when Quatre opened his mouth to argue. "Let me finish. When you are passionate about something, you don't always see when a situation has put you at risk. Remember Oslo?" Quatre's mouth opened, closed, then turned down in a pout. He slumped back against the couch. "That's a low blow, Trowa." "But it's true," He tried to catch the blond's evasive eyes and he knew that Quatre knew he was right. Quatre had taken a bullet in the back four years ago when fighting the good fight for proper colony representation within the Earth Sphere Unified Nations. He'd been so focused on the cause itself, he never noticed when his opponents tried to eliminate him, permanently. Lucky for Quatre, Trowa had forced him to wear Kevlar. If not for that, the bullet would have lodged into his heart. He'd have been dead before he hit the ground. That vest was the only reason he was still alive. Trowa continued, "It's okay that you are so passionate about fighting for the right causes, but you need to remember to keep your eyes open, and to watch your back." Quatre looked troubled, defeated. "Yeah, I know. You're right." "You deferred to my judgment back then, you need to do it now. I'm only trying to look out for you and with me around, you have a more objective perspective of what's happening around you. I know it can get a little confusing when you're surrounded by a bunch of people who are constantly thinking a whole mess of things all at once." That was true. Though Quatre had gotten better at tuning out the blaring thoughts of people around him, exceptionally large crowds still tended to give him a terrible headache, and made him particularly grouchy and noncommittal for the rest of the day. It often took him hours on end, lying in their dark bedroom trying to sort through the sensory overload, separate his own thoughts from everyone else's, and compartmentalize them. Then, he'd sleep it off like a nasty hangover. He imagined this press conference would result in much of the same. Whether or not this murder was actually committed by a Newtype, which was yet to be determined as this Newtype was only a suspect, it didn't matter. Murders happened all the time all over the world. Why someone had to suddenly decide that all Newtypes were a threat to people everywhere just because one may have committed a crime, was beyond him. And it angered him, infuriated him that this was still an issue. People always needed a boogyman in their lives. Always singling out some minority, or another and giving them imaginary horns and a forked tail. Something they could tell urban legends about and use to frighten their children into behaving. Something they could look down their noses at so they could feel superior about their own shortcomings. Human history had a long, extensive rap sheet of treating specific demographics as a stain on their societies. People of color, people of specific religions, people of specific sexual and gender preferences...the list just went on and on. Now, it was Newtypes who were treated as subhuman. The kind of people who would make men usher their wives away, or women to clutch their purses and their children in fear of some perceived crime against them. That Newtypes possessed abilities that the rest of the populace didn't have, meant they must have ulterior motives. They must be using their gifts for evil deeds. Quatre remembered overhearing a couple of women in a cafe a few years ago, when dining with Trowa. One of their children had been acting up and Quatre heard one of the women scold the child with a story of how the "Space People" would come for them if they didn't behave. Quatre's stomach had turned queasily, appetite gone, and he asked Trowa to take him home where he'd locked himself in the bedroom for the rest of the day. No matter how hard Trowa tried, he just couldn't break the funk Quatre had worked himself into. When he'd finally emerged later that evening, they talked extensively, Trowa assuring him that there were always going to be ignorant people and there was nothing Quatre could do to change that. Quatre disagreed, though. There was something he could do. Raise awareness, fight for Newtype acceptance. After all, nowadays, being a person of color, or being gay, or transgender, was perfectly normal. No one batted an eye. That was because people before them had shed blood, sweat, and tears in the fight for equality. Maybe someday, people could evolve out of needing an imaginary savior, or villain in their lives. One could always hope. He checked his watch. "We should go. The press conference starts at eight. I'd imagine it'll take some time to get there. Duo said they were hopping on a flight first thing in the morning. They're going to stay with us. Is that okay?" Trowa nodded. He reached forward, cupping the blond's face between his hands. "Are you sure about this?" Even though he knew Quatre had made his mind up, he had to ask. Had to hope against hope that maybe, Quatre had decided to play it safe for once. Quatre smiled gently, reading the trepidation. "I'm sure. This has to be done. You know it as well as I do. I have to do what I can, not only for me, for us, but for future generations of Newtypes. This has to stop." "I know. And I'm on your side, all the way. I hope you know that, baby." The blond leaned forward, kissed his husband, so damned in love with this wonderful man. "I do. I know it. And thank you." "For what?" "For everything. Supporting me, loving me, being in my life. Just being you." Trowa took him into his arms, burying his face into the sweet-smelling blond curls. "I'll be by your side the whole time, watching your back. Not because I don't trust you, but because you mean the world to me." Quatre smiled, nuzzling into his husband's chest. Feeling safe and loved and trusted was the most wonderful sensation in the world.
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