by Ruth
AC 198: July 17
Four young men entered the Preventer Headquarters lobby and demanded to speak to Zech Merquise. The former leader of the White Fang had disappeared after the Barton Uprising of 196, but the Preventers still kept him listed as being on staff to "smoke out" malcontents such as these who were out for revenge or imagined glory. The receptionist, a mild mannered woman, spotted their amateur attempt at concealing weapons and spoke to them smoothly while pushing the silent alarm built under her desk for such purposes.
Unfortunately, two of the most famous Preventers were headed for the lobby from the lower level shooting range as the alarm went off. She saw them at the stairway doors a fraction before the terrorists did and made her decision. Springing from her chair she sprinted across the marble floor, catching the young men by surprise for a few crucial seconds.
"Lieutenant Yuy! Lieutenant Duo!" she screamed. "Look out!" She got no further, as three gunshots ripped up her back, but that moment of warning was all Heero Yuy and his companion needed. The two dove and rolled behind the huge decorative oases of greenery put there for that reason. The gunman who shot the woman froze a moment, stunned at what he had accomplished. It cost him his life as Shinigami's bullet took him in the eye. The others tried at first to escape, but the silent alarm had sealed the bulletproof glass doors behind them. The lobby echoed to a brief, fatal firefight. The Security team and the Medics arrived to find two terrorists dead, two mortally wounded and the receptionist holding on by a breath.
Doctor Sally Po shook her head as she examined her. She was losing too much blood.
"Shit," said Duo, scrubbing at the tears in his eyes as he crossed the lobby. "Another fuckin' day in fuckin' Paradise." He grabbed a beeping phone. "Preventer Headquarters, what the hell do you want? Yeah? He isn't here. No, I don't know when he'll be back and guess what? I don't care!" He slammed the receiver and froze. There was a girl huddled under the desk. "Oh, my God . . ." He vaulted the desk and dropped to his knees "Hey, honey, what are you doing under here?"
"My Mom said to stay here until she got back." She couldn't have been more than nine, dressed in a pink tee-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers, with blue-grey eyes and reddish gold hair braided down her back. She was trembling with fear, big tears running down her face. "Is the shooting over?"
"Sure is, sweetheart, you can come out if you want." Duo held out his hand.
She didn't reach for it. "Is my Mom okay?"
Duo swallowed hard. "I don't know right now, but she's getting the best care we got. Come on out." With a little whimper, she took his hand and let herself be pulled out from her hiding place. He held her tightly a moment. Duo gave a quick scout before he stood up. The Forensic crew had removed the bodies. At the doors he saw Sally Po bend over a sheeted figure being lifted into the ambulance with her stethoscope. She shook her head, and removed the device from her ears. One of the attendants pulled the sheet over the figure's head while the other entered something on a notepad. He gritted his teeth on the curses he wanted to hurl.
"Come on," he brought her out, keeping her close to his side. "What's your name?"
"M-Mikki," she scrubbed at her eyes.
Heero crossed the lobby. "She's dead," he said flatly. "Who's that?"
"My Mom's dead?" The girl shrieked.
"Heero, you idiot!" Duo shouted.
"Your mother?" Heero looked startled.
Mikki burst into tears again.
"Everyone's going to remember it now, I guess; Laura Covington. The First One." Quatre Raberba Winner looked over the desk to a large blank wall. A bronze plaque about a foot from the ceiling proclaimed it as a memorial to Preventers killed in the line of duty. The ceremony was scheduled for two days from now. She had never worn the uniform, but those who did would not deny her the honor. She had saved two of their own. "I should have. . ."
"Quatre, don't," Trowa Barton said sharply. "You can't even keep your sisters straight, how could you possibly be expected to know the names of the entire support staff of this building?"
"That's not what I was going to say, Trowa," he objected.
"Fine," Trowa looked back towards the elevators. "What's he want?" Wufei was heading towards them purposefully. Quatre stiffened.
"Something's wrong," he said.
"I'm glad you haven't left," Wufei's voice was low and he gave a quick glance at the security cameras around the lobby. "Come with me. Now."
"What's happened?" The two fell into step behind him, heading back into the elevator and up to the third floor, where the offices began.
"You'd better see for yourself," Wufei pushed open the door of the first office.
Trowa scowled, seeing nothing, but Quatre gasped and headed for the desk. The chair was on the floor as if it had been violently thrown aside. A stifled whimper came from under the desk. Peering into the opening, Trowa gasped himself at the huddled figure tucked into the far corner as tightly as possible. "Duo?"
"He's a child," Quatre whispered, his eyes unfocused as his fingers swept the top of the desk. "A very, very frightened little boy."
"I don't know how long he's been there," Wufei's voice was a little shaky. "It may have been since the incident this morning. We have to get him out of there."
"It's triggered a flashback," Trowa paused. "We may need professional help."
"Not that quack!" Quatre snapped. The Preventer's hired psychologist had succeeded where even Dorothy Catalonia had failed; he'd pushed Quatre too far. Quatre had blackened the Doctor's eye. Trowa still wondered just what the man had said. Without another word, Quatre stripped off his jacket. Uniforms meant danger to far too many colonial children.
"Hello," he said softly squatting down by the desk. "What are you doing under there?"
"She said to stay," came the tear-choked whimper. "She said to stay until she came back."
"Boshivatta," breathed Wufei. "What the child said this morning."
Quatre licked his lips and looked up at the other men who were as worried as he.
"What about Sally?" Trowa turned, badly wanting to get the burden off of Quatre.
"Unfortunately, my wife and Lady Une are at Network 23 saying very uncomplimentary things to their news director. It seems some clever person from there has tapped into our outside cameras and their newsbreak at five showed Sally pronouncing the Covington woman dead at the ambulance." Wufei gave a wry smile. "I almost went with them. Sally can be quite amusing when she's angry."
"That doesn't help us now," Trowa grumbled, privately making a note not to get Sally Po angry at him. Wufei's idea of "amusing" during the war frequently involved mayhem and mass destruction.
"Just let me try," Quatre shot him a warning glare. Trowa sighed inwardly. He'd tried to help take the pressure off and Quatre promptly became stubborn. His partner turned back to the underside of the desk. "You can't stay here. It's not safe. You have to come out so we can get you somewhere safe."
"Is my Mom okay?" Duo asked childishly.
"Tell him the truth," Trowa hissed, stripping off his own jacket in case Quatre needed help. Duo may have flashed back to being a frightened little boy, but that frightened little boy was capable of breaking Quatre's neck in a struggle.
"No," Quatre said very quietly. "There's been a lot of fighting. A lot of shooting. She's not coming back."
A heartbroken wail filled the office. Wufei darted to the door to make sure no one else heard. He was looking more and more uncomfortable with the situation. Looking for a chance to run off and dump it on us, huh? Trowa thought caustically.
"I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry." Quatre coaxed. "But we're here and we'll take care of you. You have to come out."
"Who're you?"
"We're your friends, Duo."
"'Snot my name."
Quatre's eyebrows shot up. Wufei looked startled as well. Trowa gave a short chuckle. The two shot him annoyed looks.
"What is your name?" Quatre shifted his weight, getting down on one knee to be a little more comfortable.
A sob was the answer. "I . . .I dunno."
"Damn," breathed Trowa, feeling a sharp twinge from his own painful past. Quatre reached back and patted his leg.
"Okay," Quatre turned back. "Okay. I thought your name was Duo. We'll figure this out later. You have to come out now. You can't stay there."
More sniffling and another sob, "You aren't going to hurt me?"
"Never," Quatre put his whole heart into that one word.
"Ditch the jacket," Trowa advised. Wufei added his jacket to the pile on top of the desk.
Slowly, Duo crawled out from his hiding place and crouched at the opening, ready to dive back in at the slightest threat. He was a mess; his face streaked with dust and tears and his braid a shambles. His uniform was spotted with cobwebs. Memo to housekeeping, Trowa thought, Be more thorough cleaning under the desks.
Quatre carefully straightened up and held out his hand. "Come on, we'll take you someplace safe."
Duo looked at them all a moment, then took Quatre's hand and stood up. They were the same height, but Duo cringed at Quatre's side, obviously a frightened child. Quatre patted his shoulder and made soothing noises. With some coaxing, the trio got him down to the locker room to wash up and change. They ended up raiding their own lockers, because they weren't sure if Duo had booby-trapped his.
After a quick wash-up and a brief argument: "We are not getting in the shower with him." "How else are we going to do that hair?" "We won't do the hair." Duo was wearing a pair of Quatre's tan khakis and Trowa's green turtleneck.
This is not fair. Trowa shut his locker and rested his hand against it a moment. Our first night off in two weeks. Right now, we should be in Emil's and I should be trying to get Quatre to eat something other than the grilled shrimp Caesar salad. He told himself firmly that he had no reason at all to be bothered with the fact that Quatre was re-braiding Duo's hair. It was quite obvious from the way he was talking that he was viewing Duo as a child. The fact that Trowa couldn't quite grasp that notion was neither Quatre nor Duo's fault. A more rational target for irritability was Wufei, who was clearly looking for any excuse to bolt.
"We'll take him out through the prisoner transport entrance," Trowa fished in his civilian jacket and came up with the car keys. "Here, can you bring our car around to there?"
"Of course I can," Wufei retorted, looking relieved at the chance to get away.
"I'd better call Hilde," Trowa sighed.
"You will not," Quatre finished tying off the braid and let it drop. "We can't take him home to her like this." Duo took his hand again and followed him warily.
"What do you suggest?" Trowa scouted the hallway. Finding it clear, he nodded.
"We take him back to the apartment." Quatre hustled Duo out and down the hall.
"Are you out of your mind?" Trowa sputtered as he passed them to take point again. "What are we going to do with him?"
"Put him to bed. He's getting tired."
Trowa thought of a dozen arguments as to why Quatre's idea would not work. They got to the prisoner transport elevator which went down into the secured basement garage. Duo was unusually quiet and refused to let go of Quatre's hand. Trowa kept telling himself that he was being ridiculous to be annoyed. Wufei was almost gleeful, handing over the car and clearly all the responsibility.
"We'd better get overtime for this," Trowa complained. "And tomorrow night off, or I'm calling Network 23."
"I'll work something out," Wufei assured him. He was gone by the time Quatre crawled in the backseat.
"This is not fair," Trowa grumbled.
"He doesn't like me," Duo said. Quatre kicked the back of his seat. Trowa sighed, it was going to be a long night.
"I'm not jealous," Trowa objected, he was keeping an eye on Duo, who seemed content to sit and watch television. "What if he doesn't snap out of it by the morning?"
"You are jealous," Quatre paused. "And. . . I really don't know. I hoped getting him to a place where he'd feel safe would help him find his way back."
"At least he's housebroken," Trowa took the tray as Quatre added a plate of cookies. "I am not jealous." Quatre just looked at him. The problem with living with an empath, Trowa decided, is that you couldn't even lie to yourself because they knew you were. Quatre pulled out his cell phone. Trowa hadn't heard anything, which meant he'd put it on vibrate.
"Tell Richardson to scratch his own ass tonight," Trowa suggested sharply. Quatre's sisters were doing an admirable job of running the Winner Corporation, except for their appointment of Cyril Richardson to handle the Moonbase Operations. Cyril seemed incapable of doing the smallest task without "Mr. Winner's" input. Quatre waved him to be quiet.
"No, Hilde," he lied badly. "I really don't know where he is. Well, no. Well, I can't really. . . Yes, I see. Yes, I will. All right. I'll do my best. All right. Good night."
"Now what?" Trowa brought the tray out and sat down on one end of the couch. Quatre sat on the other with Duo in between.
"She thinks I know where he is," Quatre sighed. "Here, careful, it's hot. But, she thinks he's taken off to go find Mikki Covington."
"Who?" Trowa helped himself to a cookie.
"The receptionist's daughter," Quatre took a small bite of one himself.
"That would not surprise me," Trowa agreed. "What did happen to her?"
"You know, I have no idea," Quatre frowned.
"What's a 'ceptionist?" Duo asked.
"Someone who answers the phone, takes messages and makes appointments for people to see each other," Trowa answered.
"She died," Duo shuddered. Quatre rescued the cocoa before it spilled. "She died. They shot her, right in the middle of the. . . the. . ." He doubled over, clutching at his forehead.
"Lobby," Quatre finished quietly. "Shh. It's all right."
"Take it easy," Trowa slid over to hug Duo's shoulders. "Don't fight it. You can remember. It's okay to remember."
"She was a nice lady!" he wailed. He tucked his knees up and pressed his forehead on them. "She was a nice lady."
"Yes, she was," Quatre agreed.
"They shot off her face!" Duo shouted again.
"I don't think he's talking about Laura Covington," Trowa exclaimed.
"She said to stay. She said to stay but I was cold and I got hungry and I crawled out and she was dead. She was in the middle of the room and they'd shot her face off and I don't want to remember! I don't want to!" He began to sob.
"It's all right. It's over. You're safe here, safe," Quatre repeated, rubbing his back. "Do you think he's remembering his mother?"
"I hope not," Trowa went for a box of tissues. Duo calmed down after awhile, finished his cocoa and was persuaded to stretch out on the couch.
All right, I am jealous. Trowa thought as he watched Quatre tuck one of Catherine's many knitted afghans around Duo. He was telling a third bedtime story. He's so good with him. He'd be great with a puppy or a child. I'm only good with lions.
"We'll have to be quiet," Quatre left the bedroom door ajar. "I want to know if he wakes up."
"I'm surprised he even got to sleep," Trowa confessed. "No wonder he hid under the desk."
"Poor kid," Quatre sighed. Trowa started rubbing his shoulders. "Maybe we should have called the psychologist. What a memory."
"I doubt he'd have made him feel as warm or as safe as you have, Cat."
"Oh, Trowa."
"I mean it." Trowa slipped his arms around Quatre. "Now, you have to tell me a bedtime story."
"Once upon a time, there was a circus. . ."
Duo was sitting up looking around wildly. He turned towards them. Trowa saw recognition in his eyes and an "adult" look on his face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, then blinked. "Reverse that, what the hell am I doing here?" He looked down, "in your clothes. Oh-kay-ay, either it was one hell of a party or Hilde nailed me with the frying pan."
"None of the above," said Trowa dryly. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"The poor kid couldn't stop crying and Heero was just standing there, staring like he does. One of the Medics took the kid and . . ." Duo shuddered. "You ever start to remember something and you just can't stop? Yeah, I guess you do." He hugged himself. "I had to get away from everybody. What happened?"
"Wufei found you under a desk upstairs," said Quatre quietly. "You said ‘ she' told you to stay there."
"Oh, damn," Duo stood up and started pacing. "Yeah. How old was I? Three, four maybe? She was. . . I don't know, maybe a friend of my family? She was just a nice lady. The damn soldiers came. She put me in this little closet under her stairs and told me to stay. I heard shots."
"You said she was in the middle of the floor," Trowa stood watching him.
Duo stopped pacing and put a hand to his eyes. "God, yes, the bastards shot her. They shot her in the face. Why did I start remembering that?" He paused. "The kid. That poor kid." He straightened. "Oh, shit, Hilde. She's probably going nuts."
"Don't worry about her," Quatre frowned. "What about you?"
"I'm," Duo sighed. "I'm as okay as I'm going to be. One more lousy memory to have nightmares over." His voice lowered to a dangerous growl. "One more lousy memory to make sure no other kid gets the same memory." Duo stood silent a moment. "Thanks guys, how can I make it up to you?"
"Dinner at Emil's tomorrow night," said Trowa promptly.
"Trowa!"
"Poor kid," Trowa sighed.
"I know," Quatre leaned against his partner. "Duo and Hilde were all set to be her foster parents. Duo was insisting on it."
"Duo and Hilde?" Trowa raised both eyebrows. "How did they manage that?"
"I'm not sure, but it was a really simple procedure. They just filled out a few forms. . . ." Quatre trailed off, shrugging.
"Don't look at me like that." Trowa frowned.
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to."