Disclaimer: *Munches on Disclaimer* Usual applies.
Ah, Spring Vacation is here and I have all the time in the week
to finish up loose ends - starting with missed meals.
Dedication: TO JOOLES! You are fantastic!!
Enjoy!
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People, standing in lone groups, scantily dotted the airport's
terminals. So early in the morning, barely anyone was there, either
to wish someone a good flight or come as the greeting staff -
the chore was put off till those lucky passengers rented a car
and came to their home, where they could be met under the proper,
early morning circumstances of sleepy "Hello"'s.
Instead, Heero and Duo were waiting for a shuttle to be loaded
and prepped for the runway. The colonies never seemed as far away
or as close as they did in an airport, in any airport, and Duo
was surprisingly aware of that. His fingers itched for the luggage
he had brought along, but he reminded himself that it was probably
already boarded.
Thirty minutes till he left. In seven to ten hours - he was not
sure which flight took longer, the B-37 or Airstream Airlines'
- he would land on the colony that was his home, were he really
lived. Where someone was waiting for him, and hopefully would
meet him there once he landed.
His mouth opened in a small, soundless sigh, one hand splayed
against the glass so that all five fingertips touched the cool
surface. He was going home.
Duo shook his head.
"Strange, how going home sounds more appealing now that it
did before the first time I left." Heero did not reply, but
kept on staring up and out, not at the horizon but not up to where
the stars sat, either. His lips pressed together, firmly, while
his hands dug farther into the pockets of his pants.
Duo elbowed him gently, urging him to turn his eyes away for a
moment.
"You'll send the shirt back soon, right?" Heero tilted
his head questioningly before nodding.
"Yeah." Duo grinned and pulled at his arm.
"I need something to drink." Heero pulled his arm back
and let his hands slip back into the pocket at his hip, following
leisurely after his friend. When Duo asked if he wanted anything
- coffee, doughnuts - he declined with a frown. Duo shrugged,
paying for his second breakfast with change from the first.
Licking whipped cream from around the corners of the cup Duo jerked
his shoulder toward a free table. Heero sat down across from him,
watching quietly as his friend ate. Left to his own means of sitting
down with loaded arms Duo sat awkwardly at first, easing into
the thin padding once he put everything on the table.
"Hilde said it was time I got back." He sounded a little
boastful, as though this was something to take pride in. "See?
She misses me." His voice held a quirky sound to it.
Heero brought his hands out from hiding and lay them on his knees.
"You run the technical side of the business, Duo, of course
you need to go back." Duo threw a cupcake holder into a nearby
trashcan.
"That's what she'd like to think she means." The corners
of Heero's mouth twitched. No doubt, Duo, no doubt.
Duo eyed his friend with abrupt curiosity.
"Anyone waiting for you back there?" Heero shook his
head.
"I don't know anyone there."
"But it's your home - "
"It's where I live."
"Yeah." Duo sounded puzzled: Heero did not wish to explain
the difference between a home and living space so he turned his
head to study the tiled floor. Leaning back into the chair, he
spread his feet and let them risk the tripped steps of passerbys.
The shoulder of his jacket brushed up against his cheek and he
remained still. Duo looked at him briefly, seeming to size him
up, before looking out the glass to his shuttle again. He would
most likely be one of few boarding. Five in the morning was not
an especially cheery time.
He cleared his throat but did not catch Heero's attention. He
slammed the palm of his hand down on the table and won a wary
glance.
"Quit brooding, it's ruining my mood." Had Heero's head
not been bent forward so far he would have seen both eyebrows
lift themselves. "Besides, I might not see for you years.
Talk to me, brother."
Heero's estranged glance at the remark made Duo grin.
"I'm going to use that from now on, you know." Scrunching
up his nose quickly he looked out again and back at Heero. "Do
you have anything planned for the mission?"
Heero frowned, rolling his head around.
"Would you quiet down?" He asked harshly. Duo played
with an unused straw, peeling the paper casing around it strand
by strand like a banana.
"You're too jumpy in the morning." He grumbled lightly.
"The mission is my last: it has no other importance."
Duo's eyes stayed on the straw but his hands paused.
"Are you sure?" He asked, drawing the words out in a
hollow but soft pitch.
"Yeah." Duo's shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.
"I guess I'll trust you on that." Sending the crumpled
paper into that nearby trashcan Duo leaned forward, resting his
clasped hands on the table surface between them. "Does this
mean you're not working for the Preventers?" Heero's jaw
tightened in thought.
"Later."
"What are you going to do once you get back?" Heero
shifted in his seat.
"Duo, they're ready." He meant the shuttle - Duo knew
this and his braid whipped around with a quick tug of his head.
He grabbed it into one fist, stroking the bending curves.
"Yeah, they can wait. What are you going to do once you get
home?" Heero looked at him, irritated and on the finishing
stretch of reaching the boundary of his patience.
"I don't know." Standing up, the chair scooching back
with a tight squeal of protest, Heero nodded toward where people
were making a line. "It's time for you to leave."
"Why so eager to get rid of me?"
"There's your answer." Heero replied dryly. Duo grinned,
folding his arm around Heero's neck and across his friends' shoulders
- he especially disliked that.
"You have a sense of humor, at least." Turning a little
more serious, Duo added, "Would you try and contact us sometime
in the next year, though?"
Heero did not answer. Again, Duo made himself feel satisfied that
his arm had not been thrown off from his friends' shoulders yet:
silence was inevitable when it came to Heero and one might as
well get used to it while they could. It was not usually meant
to be offensive, anyway.
With a slap on his shoulder Duo parted from Heero's side, waved
all too cheerfully for the considered time, and filed into the
line of passengers for the waiting shuttle.
Heero waited a moment. Then he gave a well-sized, throaty grumble
and called to Duo in a unnaturally raised voice.
"Hey!" Duo looked over his shoulder, halted, and let
a family of people in front of him. He seemed only briefly troubled
before again lighting up.
"Hey what?" Heero jerked his head toward the shuttle.
"Good you're going home." He said, somewhat blankly.
Duo grinned.
"Yeah, it is." Heero's mouth turned up the smallest
bit, his expression still deadpan and his voice not carrying anything
different to its tone.
There were things he wanted to say, but was not sure how to phrase
them correctly. As Duo entered the connected passageway to the
shuttle, giving his friend one last, happy look before disappearing
altogether, Heero turned and walked away with his hands back in
his pockets. There were people less articulate than he, and his
inability to wish his friend a good flight came as nothing new
to even himself.
Outside, where he could hear the machine engines of different
shuttles leave the runway and planes landing, he lifted his face
up.
There were things he could do in the Preventers that not only
would give him some useful purpose, but also keep him busy. As
a government organization just pulling out of its baby stage,
though, there were restraints in the Preventers that he would
have to live with - some of these restraints he could not work
with at the present time. Not right then.
Maybe later. When he felt that the illegal hacking talent of his
was not needed as much, or when he felt he did not have to work
on his own without allies, maybe then. It was hard to tell.
It was also very hard to decide.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Relena rifled through the bank investments of her inheritance,
interest and concern marking her mouth - slightly puckered - and
eyebrows, now pulled together in a vague slant. Flipping through
its contents, she gave a cough and went on to the next folder,
the next set of papers. Stock holdings, placements, taxes on the
land, the manor, the household - all of which she was not looking
for just then.
Ah. A complete and highly detailed total of the amount of money
in her possession. She pulled the stack out, careful in not letting
anything slip from the packet so carefully put together by her
personal accountants, and set herself down on the nearest seat
available in the vault.
She had long been considering the range of options she had with
the money - rightfully hers - ever since she had been informed
of its up-to-date exact amount. Surveying the list of 'allowances'
she was paid each month, this extracted from the total, what she
was given annually, what she was paid as a politician of her stature,
adding in the interest per year - the grand total came to more
than she thought she really had.
The nervous bank accountant opposite her studied her changing
expressions with worry. Not to sound all that cliche but to lose
her business would not only darken his career but would reduce
the banks' reputation to lowly status as well. She had always
been satisfied with their work, having looked over the numbers
at a given date every three months for the past year and a half.
Now, she was asking to make a drastic change. To do this she insisted
on surveying the amount herself - to increase the banks' worry
she came in person with a number of guards and many unanswered,
rash questions barking at her heels.
The accountant, tired of standing, pulled a chair up and joined
Relena in glancing from page to page, hoping to find what she
was looking for at the same time as her.
She waited a few more minutes before looking up. She smiled, a
polite, given smile that readied him for what she had to say.
"This is very interesting." The accuracy with which
her account had been tallied up so faithfully from day to day
was extremely reassuring. "I see that there have been some
major changes?"
The accountant nodded. They both knew of the large sums being
taken from her personal account and used for anonymous events
- it was the money that paid for the weekly flights in and out
of Montreal, but as a trusting customer she was not asked about
the meaning of these steady withdrawals.
"Yes. It has not dented the over-all as much as we first
thought, though - the added investments have made up for roughly
one fourth of it already." He said, pointing out the location
of these investments on the papers spread on the table. Relena
nodded, absorbing, not registering the surprising positive attitude
of the accountant when usually anyone involved in banking tended
to be more conservative.
The accountant cleared his throat. He still felt nervous, but
nervousness was something he was well-aquainted with in the business.
"Is there something you had in mind?" Any particulars?
Nothing to get me removed from the company? He glanced over the
numbers, reading them as one would read a book.
Relena nodded, drawing her finger along the total.
"How much of this was not my original inheritance?"
He blinked.
"Pardon?"
"I know this was not all mine until a few years ago. Someone
did not come to claim a portion of this, and it was added to what
now legally belongs to me to carry out the law. Correct?"
He nodded. She fixed her eyes on his. "How much?"
His nose twitched and he rubbed the tip with his thumb. Glancing
over the papers already brought out, he stood up and went to the
files, unaware of the following set of eyes at his back for a
few minutes. A folder behind the one Relena had dug through last
was brought into the bright light of bank lamps and overheads.
"Here. This should entail the given amount." He handed
it to her, sat down, waited. Relena thanked him, passed her tongue
over a corner of her mouth, and read the first page. The folder
held unusually little for so large an account, even though it
did not exist anymore.
She guessed the total of her brother's true inheritance to now
be fortynine percent of her own. She was only guessing, though,
because the amount of untouched interest was not recorded and
with what she herself owned she was not entirely sure of how much
really belonged to him.
This made her itch for stats.
She handed the folder back to the accountant, now slightly impatient
with a banker's curiosity for customer accounts.
"Yes?" Relena folded her left ankle over the right,
settling in her chair to face him squarely.
"I would like to know how much this account would originally
be had it been left alone." The accountant flushed.
"I'm not sure we could bring exact records up, but - "
He paused and thought. "We can certainly try. It would not
be the correct amount, what with the changes in taxes, security,
charges and recent inflation. Would a detailed estimate be fine?"
Relena smiled, this time brighter than before.
"Of course. Thank you. When should I come back for the estimate?"
"We can do that right now: our computers should be able to
put it together." He could not keep the limited amount of
pride from his voice - this bank had an envied system, very modern,
very looked-after.
"In that case, I'll wait." The accountant nearly shrugged,
just barely keeping himself from doing so, and nodded obediently.
He left her with some of the body guards that had accompanied
her to the bank, folder in hand, an intensely detached expression
pulling his mouth into an unbreakable line, steeling his eyes.
She watched him leave, lacing her fingers together on the table
top. The vault, though lit well enough, seemed a dark void - it
had little emotion or feeling tied into the atmosphere, the furniture
being stark and, though of good quality, done only with the necessesities
attached and extra padding. The walls were a bland, if not harsh
white and the floor was a newly-developed type of false marble.
It was cold to the eye, but a bank without this formal, business-like,
reserved feeling to it was considered a lesser bank. Her advisors
had done well in referring her to it.
About twenty minutes later the accountant rushed back in with
tight, advancing steps. In his left hand were a few sheets of
paper, stapled together, and in the other a different folder.
Once he reached the table he went about sorting the mess she had
created to find what she wanted while explaining the outcome of
the search.
It was a great deal of money, he admitted. All the facts they
had gathered were as near a distinct estimate as even they could
manage - the pains they had gone through to aquire this data was
more than the usual, but Relena Darlian was a valued customer
among a small handful. And since some of the records from the
old account were in their files and not entirely deleted, it had
been made easier scrounging together stats.
He stacked the old away and back into its original holding, pulling
out the shelf above it in the filing cabinet. This was little
more than empty. Sitting back at the table, he brought the new
folder to their eyes, explaining that this was the newest data
on Relena's account. The next few sheafs of paper were what really
interested her, though.
"50.24 percent of your account was the added amount, counting
up the interest and taxing." He finished while Relena looked
over the numbers, impressed in the least.
"Thank you, very much." The accountant nodded eagerly,
his face serious.
"Your welcome, Miss Darlian." Relena looked over the
data one more time before clearing her throat and turning it over
to him again. She did not know where to put it among the rest
of the files, anyway.
"Before this is put away I would like to discuss a new account."
The accountant's eyebrows pulled up in contemplation, slightly
confused and bewildered.
"Yes?"
"Would you separate that exact amount from my account and
put it into this one?" She held out a prepared form. "It
would be a great help."
"Oh." He looked over it with practiced care, noting
with caution. "Yes, we can do that." He swallowed back
some saliva that had gathered in his mouth. "Are you sure
of this, Miss Darlian?"
"Yes." He tilted his head to the side, folding the release
and admit forms into a pocket.
"By what title should we label it?"
"'Soldier's Account.'" His eyes glanced into hers quickly
to acertain himself of this. With a little grumble he stood up,
bent at the waist and shook her hand warmly.
"World Internation is glad to be of service." She stood
up and smiled.
"Thank you." Relena felt a warmth spread through her,
knowing her smile to be wider than usual, kinder.
/Well, brother, now you have something waiting for you. Our inheritance,
or what you will accept of it, has been justified and corrected./
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
One just can't hop over Zechs as though he's nonexistent - although
he's pretending to be, since this goes by "Endless Waltz"'s
rules. I get a kick out of his playing dead till he's needed again,
though - how many people think like that??
Thank you for reading this far so much!! Feedback is welcome,
but I'm mostly glad that anyone's reading.....*goes to chew on
Disclaimer some more*