Fathoms

Summary: Heero ponders what he saw and makes a return trip, with dangerous consequences.

Author’s Note: I’m having a hard time focusing on any of my stories right now, due to scattered plots, writer’s block, intermittent problems with my Clearwire access (the worst Internet carrier EVER), personal stuff, exhaustion and trying to pin down the traits of the Gundam characters in my head without making them too OOC. So we’ll see. If anyone’s reading this, thank you kindly.

“I like the stingray. Nice ripple effect where the light’s hitting it.”

“That’s one of my favorites.” Wufei scanned each print with his usual lack of drama. He appreciated Heero’s skill, but he wasn’t a demonstrative person to ooh and aah over his work, particularly when he accompanied him on so many of his jaunts. Once in a while, he would grunt a low “hm” as he leafed through each photo, making Heero smirk.

He always showed Wufei his prints and footage first, usually after coffee. Wufei respected Heero’s demand that food or drink never be brought to his light table or close to his precious frames.

Heero clicked away on his Mac, using his Photoshop suite to edit some light values on a close-up of a pod of dolphins. It was hard to make the adjustment and keep it natural looking; he had to account for the green cast over his subjects. But the act of working on the frames was soothing and one he enjoyed. Reviewing his shots reminded him of the buoyant, rippling pressure of the water pushing against him when he dove.

Wufei retreated from the light table and headed into the small kitchenette in Heero’s office for some coffee. Moments later, he lingered in the doorway sipping the strong brew black. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“I feel like Starbucks today. Probably going to head out in a while.” Wufei snorted disdainfully into his cup.

“Five bucks for a cup of battery acid with a lid. Beats me why people love that stuff.”

“I like getting a flavor in it once in a while.”

“Get a three-dollar can of Folgers and a two-dollar bottle of that flavored creamer crap, and there you go. Starbucks flavored coffee for a month.”

“It’s an excuse to get out of the house,” Heero added. He leaned back in his seat and stretched, working out a kink in his neck. “Second thought, I might go now.”

“Was that all the frames?” Wufei inquired. He set his cup back down on the kitchen counter and crossed the room, hovering over Heero’s shoulder. Heero didn’t mind the intrusion of his personal space as ‘Fei’s chest grazed his back. They were close friends, despite ‘Fei’s sometime gruff demeanor and tendency to speak in monosyllables when he was annoyed. He carefully began flipping each hard slide over, one at a time, reviewing the images for any that he might have missed. “That one of the reef is nice.”

“Looks like something out of a coffee table book,” Heero muttered.

“So sell it to someone making a coffee table book,” Wufei shrugged. His flipping slowed as he scanned them, seeming to be searching for a frame that he glanced at before. His eyes narrowed as he separated the slide from the pile and then held it under the tiny magnifying glass. “There. Look. Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

Heero took the magnifier and skimmed over the frame slowly. The shot had acceptable quality, certainly not one of his favorites, but Heero appreciated the light values in this piece, too. The composition was clear except for some shadows in the background.

“Look at that blue streak,” Wufei muttered. “Can you blow it up?”

“Sure I can blow it up,” Heero chided him. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“You’ll know once it’s big enough to get a really good look at it,” Wufei challenged. Heero sighed, craning his neck up and around to stare at him. His dark blue eyes looked amused.

“That tells me a whole lot of nothing.”

“Just blow it up, already.” Heero did as he was told, opening the file in his folder dated with a timestamp of three days ago. He chose the image viewer when the system prompted him and began to toggle through it with the hand tool.

“Zoom in. There, on the right.”

“What, that blue thing?”

“It’s a tail.” Heero squinted.

“Bullshit. I don’t see it.”

“Pfft…look again. That’s a tail, look at the red and white markings. It’s like that beta fish you used to have.”

“It’s too big to be a tail, ‘Fei.” But despite his skepticism, Heero stared at the item in the image, intrigued.

It did look like a tail. But it was perhaps less than a half a mile from his position when he took the shot. “It’s…big,” he murmured. “Right before I came back up, I saw something weird. I was too busy wanting to finish taking those last few frames while I still had good light filtering through.”

“You didn’t see any big subjects?”

“Uh-uh. Nothing like that.”

Wufei examined the frame from different angles. “Bring up the zoom. Close in on that corner.” Heero obeyed, and both men squinted at the shapes, trying to discern what they were. Heero made a noise of surprise.

“Fei, that looks like a hand.” He ran his mouse cursor over the area in question.

Fingers.

“There weren’t any other divers down there. Even if there were, what are the odds?”

“That doesn’t explain that tail.”

“If it even is a tail.”

“I can’t imagine what else would be that big, but again, look at the coloring and the fins. And if you look over here,” he mentioned, commandeering Heero’s mouse, “there’s a second shape beside it.”

“I can barely make it out.” The silhouette was vague and not as detailed, which annoyed Heero. He was bound by the constraints of his equipment and environment when he took his underwater photos, but he wished he had a more accurate view of whatever narrowly avoided his lens while he was down in the deep.

“Might even be bigger than the first one,” Wufei pondered. “Wish we could find it again.”

“Sure. Something that big will just come swimming along right where I left it next time.” Wufei sighed and reached out with his thumb and finger, flicking him in the back of the head. “Ow!””

“Head to the library. Look up large fish species that have markings like that one. Who knows, you might have discovered the next urban legend.”

“Like Loch Ness?”

“Jaws,” Wufei smirked.

*

There he was again, almost like clockwork…

Quatre held the business section close enough to his face to smell the musty newsprint above the other aromas in the coffee shop. He peered around the edge of the paper periodically to watch the front counter.

A strikingly tall, lanky young man with careless cinnamon brown hair perused the chalkboard menu’s offerings, and Quatre’s stomach twisted itself in a knot. He admired his casual stance, the way the graceful cords of muscle in his neck stretched up as he looked up at the sign. He fished his wallet from his pocket, riffling through the billfold with long, slender fingers. Quatre felt heat rise up in his cheeks, knowing his feelings were made plain by his cursed fair skin.

God, I feel like such a stalker…

He always came to the shop alone, something Quatre noticed after the fifth “coincidence” in a row of seeing the handsome brunet when he went for his morning latte fix. He always made a beeline for the same table in the back, just shy of the rest rooms. Quatre occasionally regretted not nabbing that table for himself, but he wasn’t that bold. And if he had to be honest, he hated the lack of decent light in that corner of the café. Natural sunlight was better for working on his sketches, so he made a point of taking any one of the three tables situated by the windows. The warmth bathed his back, but watching his favorite subject furtively from behind the paper for scant seconds at a time, trying not to get caught, was giving him funny chills. What am I, twelve?

But every time the young man turned in his direction, as if he felt a pair of eyes roving hungrily over him, Quatre ducked, pretending to focus on the Times crossword, the classifieds, Ask Heloise, anything… He’d be mortified if he caught him.

“Soy. No foam, please. Splenda? Um…Venti. Yes. Yes. No, thanks.” His replies to the barista were brief; his voice was deep with a slightly rough timbre and a neutral accent. Quatre couldn’t guess where he was from, one more thing that intrigued him. The young man perused the gift sets on bar across from the counter, occasionally flipping over plastic-wrapped mugs and boxes to peek at the exorbitant prices stickered on the bottoms.

Call his name. It drove Quatre crazy. The buzz of noise in the café was always too loud and distracting for him to hear it when they announced that his drink was ready, or otherwise, the barista usually just caught his eye and held up the drink. Then Tall, Dark and Hunky usually cruised over, took his drink and retired to his table, or worse, darted out the door. Quatre was frustrated, not just over his own shyness, since he was an outgoing enough person; what he hated was that he was running on empty, the worse for wear from his long dry spell. He supposed it was his own fault; he was the one who broke it off, after all. Quatre refused to live his life under someone else’s thumb.

The second counter girl hastily set down a rack of clean ceramic cups and dried her hands on a towel. The first barista was at the register, handling a growing line of customers, and she looked harried. Her partner took her cue and began taking finished drinks from the tray and calling out names.

“TROWA?” she beckoned. Quatre’s ears perked up. “Soy latte for Trowa?” Quatre suppressed a smile as his favorite obsession raised his hand briefly and retrieved his order.

Don’t leave. Stay a while. Come on, now… Quatre’s mental chant was rewarded when he grabbed a handful of recycled brown paper napkins and headed back toward the table. Good. Quatre had a few more minutes to enjoy watching him-

His cell phone trilled from his pocket and he smothered a curse. “This is Quatre,” he said blandly.

“Change of plans, little brother,” Iria chirped. He heard her fingers click-clacking across her keyboard in the background. She took a hurried gulp of her own drink before she told him, “They rescheduled the conference.”

“For when?”

“Now,” she shrugged.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Quatre was already gathering up his things, figuring out how to juggle his large folio, laptop carrying case and his unfinished drink. He set the drink back down on the table and slung the strap of the case over his opposite shoulder, not caring that it felt binding across his chest as long as it didn’t slip off. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m printing you the handouts.”

“I can download them when I get there. I have my laptop.”

“You won’t need it,” she argued.

“I don’t want to waste paper. I’m not killing a tree for the sake of a few spreadsheets.”

“I’m printing them anyway for everyone else who asked, you might as well have copies, too.”

Quatre sighed heavily. “Fine. Be there in five.” He clicked his phone shut and went to shove it in his pocket. It slid free of the opening of his pocket, not quite making it in, and it clattered to the floor. Quatre made a noise of disgust. “Fer cryin’ out loud…” From that point on, he developed a case of the dropsies. Just when he bent down to get the phone, he nearly strangled himself coming back up when the strap to his laptop snagged itself on the edge of the chair. Then he promptly knocked his folio off the table, and the fastener unsnapped, sending the contents sliding across the floor.

“Great,” he muttered. That flush in his cheeks was back, and he felt annoyed with himself. He knelt carefully and gathered up his pencils and his day planner, rearranging the remaining contents in the folio to make room for his sketchbook. He went to reach for it, but it was gone from where it landed. “Huh? Shoot…” he checked under the table and his abandoned chair, but it wasn’t there.

“You dropped this,” informed the voice hovering at his back. Quatre’s hand froze in the act of snapping the folio, and he turned slowly toward his visitor. It can’t be. God, please tell me he didn’t pick the worse moment possible to come over here…

But he did. Amused green eyes stared down at him, and Quatre rose from his kneeling position to take the proffered sketchbook. His mouth didn’t want to work. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Didn’t want to lose this.”

“Looked like you needed some help.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just falling apart,” Quatre agreed, giving him a shy smile. “Everything got away from me.”

“Helps if you have ten more hands.” Quatre briefly examined his sketchbook and was relieved nothing had happened to it. He reopened his folio and tucked it protectively inside.

“Thanks for the, uh, help,” Quatre stammered. “I’d better go, I’ve gotta run.” He fished for something else to say. “Enjoy your soy latte…” He realized he’d just blabbed how long he’d been spying on him and wanted to kick himself. “Enjoy,” he repeated as he hurried off.

“Sure. Bye,” Trowa called out cheerfully, waving at his retreating back.

Quatre counted ten breathless steps and chanced a look back over his shoulder. There he was, staring after him with that same quiet amusement. Holding Quatre’s forgotten coffee. He saluted him with it. Crap…

His cheeks were really on fire now. Stupid, stupid, STUPID… He trotted back inside and tentatively reached for the drink.

“I would’ve wondered where that went.”

“I figured.”

“Right. Thanks!”

“Welcome. Take care.”

And he was off. His embarrassment didn’t fade until he was immersed in the conference, too busy to focus on anything else. The memory of those green eyes lingered with him, though.

*


After sundown:


It felt good to be alone with this thoughts. Heero listened to the quiet lap of the water against Zero’s hull and watched a flock of terns fly in a perfect ‘V’ across the smoky clouds. He shivered inside his thick, navy wool peacoat, glad he’d thought to bring it, even though the day had been warm. He gulped some of his cooling tea and contemplated what kind of dinner he could rummage from his galley’s limited stores.

Sure. Something that big will just come swimming along right where I left it next time. Wufei’s opinion of what he saw nagged him. He’d had such a brief glimpse of it, had so little time to focus and shoot, and Heero didn’t trust his own eyes.

Heero liked things that were tangible, straightforward and concrete. It wasn’t another diver, that much he knew, so the possibility of that form in the frame being a human hand wasn’t even worth considering.

The beauty of diving was that he didn’t have to share the ocean with anyone else. Its vast, cool deep was his playground for as long as his tanks held out. Only people disappointed each other; fish were uncomplicated creatures. Heero still had a handful of letters from his father lying unopened on his bureau. He just wasn’t ready.

Heero’s radio crackled to life, stirring him from his musings. He ducked inside and picked up the handset.

“Heero here.”

“Heard your outgoing voice mail,” Wufei informed him. “Want me to bring in your mail?”

“I’m only going to be gone three days, four at the most.”

“I can get it anyway.” Wufei had the spare key to Heero’s townhouse. “I was going to feed your fish, anyway.” Heero grunted and took another sip of his tea.

“That’s fine. You’re welcome to whatever’s in the fridge.”

“The heels of a loaf of bread, some dried up lunch meat and a half a pitcher of unsweetened ice tea doesn’t qualify as food. When’s the last time you went shopping?”

“Probably the last time I ate at home. I hate to cook.”

“But you don’t hate to eat,” Wufei reasoned. “Learn how to cook more simple things. I don’t trust restaurants. They could be spitting in your soup or dropping your steak on the floor before it gets to the table. And they use produce treated with pesticides.” Wufei was an organic food nut and preached homeopathic medicine like it was gospel.

“Gives it extra minerals,” Heero muttered. “Look, don’t go through a lot of extra trouble, okay? Three days, maybe four; that’s it.” Wufei sighed.

“Famous last words. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Before Heero could form a tart rejoinder, a hand clapped itself over his shoulder and something hard and cold pressed itself against his temple.

*


The sentries didn’t question why Prince Duo was headed out of the grotto so late, merely bowing to him as they opened the gates. The earlier incident with his identification left them cowed and wary. Duo snickered to himself at their kow-towing as he darted out into the deep. Useless jellyfish, he thought.

His father would be furious. Zechs remained unconvinced at Duo’s mumbled Nothing when he demanded to know what he was planning. His younger brother looked far too innocent and was being too quiet. Zechs clung to his side like a barnacle throughout the night, ensuring that Duo remained within palace walls for the duration of his punishment.

That made it all the more satisfying when Duo snuck out. He loved his older brother but lived to make his life hell. Being the youngest son freed Duo from some of the obligations of the throne, leaving Zechs to bear the brunt of the responsibility and the weight of the crown as Milliardo’s successor, but more importantly, he carried the burden of keeping his brother from harm. Duo lingered in the library pod later than usual, trying to outlast his brother and tire him out, but Zechs wasn’t having it, remaining just as alert as though it were the first light of day.

He didn’t stop nagging Duo until he left the library in seeming defeat. They headed back toward their suite, and Duo dawdled until Zechs gave him an impatient little shove.

Hurry up. I want to go to bed.

So go. Who’s stopping you?

Not without you.

Awwww, Zechs…gonna tuck widdle bwother into bed?

Brat. Zechs looped a lock of Duo’s hair around his index finger and pulled, close to his sensitive scalp where it would sting most.

OW! ZECHS!

Move it. Bed! NOW! March!

Leave me alone, Duo grumbled, turning to take umbrage, but Zechs wasn’t having it. He jerked Duo’s arm and spun him back around, not letting go of it as he pushed him toward their suite.

Bad things happen when I leave you alone. And they usually happen to me. I’m not letting you out of my sight, so that means you’re going to bed. End of story. And I’m not tucking you in. Zechs peered down at him as they approached the door to their suite. And get that look out of your eye.

What look?

You know what look.

You’re worse than Father. Why don’t you go tell him what a great job you’re doing of bullying me and getting on my case.

This isn’t ‘on your case.’ This is me taking a day off from being ‘off your case.’ Don’t underestimate me. They entered the suite and Zechs inserted one of the light pods into the lantern by the bed, illuminating the room and throwing prisms of color along the walls. The brothers’ shadows danced as they moved about, preparing for bed. Duo went to his trunk and opened the rusted lock. NOW what are you doing?

Nothin’. None of your business. Duo reached inside and found what he was looking for. He curled up his tail and rested back against the wall, toying with the small knife. The scrimshaw handle still intrigued him. The picture depicted a small boat docked in a harbor along with the name of the port, which Duo didn’t recognize.

Put that away. Get ready for bed, Duo.

Where do you think it came from?

What does it matter? Put it away. Zechs removed his amulet and set it in the small box recessed into wall of his bed pod. He groomed out some strands of seaweed from his hair and untangled a tiny hermit crab from where it was trapped, flicking it away. It scuttled off and buried itself in the silt of the ocean floor.

What do you think it was like? Where Mother came from? Duo was focusing on the blade as he spoke, and his voice was contemplative and sad. Zechs’ glare softened somewhat as he hovered over him.

I don’t think about it. She loved it here. You’re too young to remember.

No, I’m not.

I mean when you were spawned. Zechs sat beside him, close enough that their translucent fins brushed and fluttered against each other. She was beautiful. You used to cry all the time until she sang to you. She liked odd little things like this, too. He nodded to the knife. Just strange bits of flotsam and trinkets. That’s where you get it from. Her favorite thing was red coral, though.

Maybe she should have stayed on the surface, then. Bet you think so, too. Duo winced at the sudden tightening grip Zechs had on his arm again. His winter blue eyes sparked with small whips of energy, not unlike his father’s when he was angered.

Never say that. Never again, Duo. I don’t think that, even when you make me want to strangle you with your hair. And don’t tempt me. A strange, unfamiliar emotion was written in Duo’s eyes: shame. Zechs’ hand softened its grip as his brother bowed his face. Never say that, Duo. He collected his brother into his arms and held him so tightly he could feel his heart pounding through his own flesh.

They prepared themselves for bed. Zechs indulged himself in his usual ritual of nagging Duo how to braid his thick, unruly hair while he combed it, before he accused him with You’re doing it all wrong, give me that and took the grooming implement from him. For all that he bemoaned Duo’s daily tortures and misbehavior, Zechs secretly enjoyed this quiet time with his brother. But there was no way he’d ever tell him that. His long, deft fingers sifted through it, urging out stray knots and tangles and smoothing the soft mass with the brush. He wove it into a taming, neat long braid, satisfied with it as he hefted it in his hand. There. Bed. He didn’t tuck him in, despite Duo’s repeated, derisive offer that he met with a snort. They extinguished the light, and both of the listened to the underwater echo and whoosh of each other’s breathing.

He’s going to fall asleep first. All I need is another few minutes. Duo chanted this in his thoughts like a mantra. Minutes ticked into an hour. Duo occupied himself by counting the schools of fish slowly drift by their window. Then Zechs’ breathing became deeper and more sonorous, and Duo caught the large rush of bubbles drift up from Zech’s pod in the dark. Success; he was asleep.

Duo crept out of his pod and silently collected his identification scale and amulet. As an afterthought, he took the small knife and tucked its sheath tightly into his braid. The only other implement he took was a small, hand-triggered harpoon, deciding it was better to be safe than sorry. Freedom loomed near and made minnows flutter in his gut.

*

He made his brief, polite greetings to a pod of orcas as he rose toward the surface; they kept their smug comments to themselves until he left.

Milliardo’s youngest is such a brat. He’s not mean, but just spoiled. He gives him too much free rein.

I’d love to know how he made his way out of the palace at this hour without anyone stopping him.

He’s a wily little thing, I’ll give him that.

He gives Zechs fits.

Better him than me… They chuckled amongst themselves as they hunted krill and watched him from afar. As an afterthought, they trumpeted a warning. Boat. Ten fathoms off. Careful, now. He didn’t respond, and that worried them.

*


“Turn that off,” a gruff voice muttered in Heero’s ear, stirring the hairs at his temple. “Then back away.” Heero held up his hands and adrenaline rushed in his ears, quickening his heartbeat.

“What are you doing here?”

“Borrowing your boat. Made sense to wait til you started it up, eh? Beats figuring out how to get the keys away from you while you were docked.” Heero’s lips tightened grimly. Blast. He didn’t know how he’d done something so amateurish. He should have done a walk-through of the cabin and turned on all of the lights before he left the pier. He didn’t have time for self-recriminations. “Turn it off.”

”Heero? Who’s there? Answer me, Heero!”

“FEI!” Heero cried, but the man behind him reached out and punched the off button of Heero’s comm. Pain exploded in the back of his head and he was shoved away from the console. He heard the engines cut off and the yacht rocked with the lapping current.

“Nice try, asshole,” the man muttered. “Stay down!”

“There isn’t much here,” a second man informed him from the galley. “This tub’s nicer from the outside.”

“Where’s the safe? Don’t be shy, princess. Talk.”

“Don’t…keep anything valuable on board,” Heero hissed out. The man towering above him reached for him, pawing at him and tugging at the fastenings of his coat.

“Search him!” Heero felt more violated as they stripped the coat from him, then his hooded sweatshirt, exposing him to the cabin’s drafty interior. They emptied his pockets and gave him a small kick. “What else have you got?”

“That’s it; I swear,” he grunted. “There’s nothing else. Bastards,” he hissed under his breath. That earned him a more savage kick in the ribs.

“Why don’t I believe you?” He heard his partner rummaging through the sleeping space in back, going through his limited personal effects.

“Nice camera,” one of them remarked. “Rest of this stuff’s crap.”

NO! Heero tried not to let them see his anguish. That camera was valuable, in terms of monetary and emotional worth. The man above him kept a mean-looking Glock trained on him, but he intermittently looked up as he watched his partner’s activity.

“How much gas does this thing have?”

“It’s full up,” Heero told him coldly. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Nice.” POW! He grabbed Heero by his short dark hair and bashed his face against the doorframe that led onto the deck. “Got a wise ass here.” His partner huffed in amusement.

“It’s his party. We came to his house,” he reasoned. “He gets to make the rules.”

“No. He doesn’t.” He flung him back and Heero heard the dull click of the gun being cocked. “How much fuel have we got?”

Heero ignored the question, furtively watching the man’s stance. He favored his left leg instead of planting his weight on both feet. Behind him there was an Adirondack chair that Heero usually kept on deck on sunny days.

*


Whatever was above the surface was big. Even in the dark, he could see its dimly illuminated silhouette. That wasn’t natural moonlight, either; he wasn’t accustomed to the homely yellowish glow. He put caution aside for curiosity’s sake and swam the remaining distance. He noticed strange implements protruding from its bottom. Intrigued, he reached out and felt the rough, hard edge of one of the blades.

Odd. It looked almost like a fin. His mechanical tendencies told him that it helped move the boat, somehow, perhaps a kind of propeller? Why wasn’t it moving now? He wandered around to the starboard side, wanting to get a better glimpse.

Something small splashed down in a rush of bubbles. Duo darted for it before it could sink, and he was surprised at its soft, malleable feel. It was a brown container of some kind, with smaller compartments and pockets inside. Duo started in surprise at the clear sheathes as he read tiny words printed on the objects inside them. More wondrous was the topmost one. It held the image of a young man. Duo traced his features with his fingertip, awed.

Voices. He heard strange thumping sounds, disembodied with the wall of water between himself and the source. He could make out other sounds, words, something wholly unfamiliar to his ears. Duo burned with curiosity; he had to go topside.

Brisk, cold air bathed his flesh as he broke through, taking his first, virgin breath of air above the water’s surface. He gasped in great gulps of it, then sneezed at the sting as it burned his nostrils. He didn’t have much of a chance to ponder whether he liked it. Another loud thump drew his attention to the boat, and he clung to the side of the boat, swimming around for a better look.

*

Heero swept the man’s leg out from under him in one smooth motion, hating how the motion jarred his sore ribs. He scuttled for the chair once the man was down, wisely noting that he hadn’t dropped the Glock. But he had a slim window of opportunity to get back on the radio, and if necessary, to get a hold of the gun. Before his hijacker could get up, Heero grabbed the Adirondack chair by the leg and swung it, connecting it with his neck. This time he did drop the gun.

“SHIT!” His partner was stunned at the shift in momentum in the cabin. Heero was behind his captor now, forearm curled in an effective choke hold around his throat and the gun pointed behind his ear. His cold blue eyes stared his partner down.

“Roughed me up pretty good. Gave me a pretty good headache,” Heero explained shakily. “I don’t trust my trigger finger right now, buddy. It might slip.”

“You won’t do anything,” he accused. But his eyes were fearful and uncertain.

“Maybe I won’t. Not if I don’t feel like I have to.” Heero jerked the man in his arms to his feet. “Turn on the comm. Now.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think-“

“Turn it ON!” Heero knew Wufei had to be out of his mind with worry, but the main thing was to let him know his location, and that he wasn’t alone. More than anything, he needed to send out an SOS. “Easy, now…” The man struggled against him, taking shallow sips of air. “NOW!”

“All right, asshole, all right!” he shouted. Heero wouldn’t turn his back on his partner, and he dug the barrel of the gun more firmly into his skull. The man reached over and turned on the comm., and Heero nodded with satisfaction as it crackled to life. He patched into his own frequency, knowing Wufei hadn’t left his townhouse.

“Heero? Is that you!”

“Yeah, ‘Fei. I’ve got company. Listen…” He was cut off when the man’s foot kicked back and nailed his left kneecap. Then he wrapped his foot around Heero’s ankle tripped him, driving him backwards against the doorframe. Heero “oof’ed!” and felt his wind being knocked from his chest. His assailant elbowed him in the sternum, and Heero heard the gun clatter from his fingers.

“I’ve had enough of his sonofabitch,” he spat, and he grabbed the discarded chair, bringing it down on Heero’s head. Heero slumped lifelessly to the floor.

“Finish him off.”

“Nah.” They ignored Wufei’s frantic voice on the other end of the radio and turned it back off. He nudged Heero with his foot. “Throw him over. No way is anyone gonna find his body on this tub when we dump it at the port.” His partner sighed.

“This sucks. This was supposed to go off without any bullshit.”

“Pretend there wasn’t any bullshit and help me.” He struggled with Heero until his partner came to help him, grabbing his ankles. The young man felt surprisingly light, and he had a compact, wiry build.

“Bon voyage!” They heaved him over the side and were satisfied at the deep, dull splash. Heero’s face disappeared beneath the water; his hand seemed to bob up in a supplicating gesture before it, too, sank.