When the Numbers Turn Up Counterfeit (62/?)
Title: When the Numbers Turn Up Counterfeit (62/?)
Fandom: Gundam Wing, Numbers 'verse
Characters/Pairings: Nichol, Alex, Mueller, Trowa, Midii
Word Count: 1600
Summary: Dark Gangster AU. Nichol enjoys his new job. Trowa doesn't like his as much.
A/N: aquatinted.
***
Nothing has changed, Nichol told himself. Absolutely nothing is different than it was two hours before.
He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles in the curls. Just earlier he'd been informed that he was being let out of a situation where he was a hostage in order to babysit two of the hothead racketeers working under the Numbers. Finding them had been easy for Nichol, not that Alex and Mueller were sloppy as much as Nichol hadn't been able to test his own instincts for so long. He was still capable. It felt good.
And that's what made him trigger the reminder. Nothing is fixed. Everything's still fucked up and bad, he thought. Trowa was in danger, and while Quatre insisted he had that in hand--there was not one thing Nichol could do about it. A vein along his forehead throbbed and became hot.
So he'd been given charge of these two, Nichol glanced at them still arguing in the corner over which job they were going to pull for their next heist. Alex tried to ignore him. Mueller continued to look over at Nichol as if the older man might evaporate and they could relax.
All he had to do was say that Zero sent him and the boys ignited with muted enthusiasm. The authority actually felt good. Nichol crossed his arms and set his jaw, fighting against the emotion with a scowl. Mueller saw, his fingers twitched and he dropped his pencil which started Alex on another tirade about picking a racket that wasn't too easy or that just anyone could do.
"You're the guys who were behind the airport," Nichol said. It wasn't a question, but Mueller nodded.
"That was us." He made a fist. "Until damn Six was given the job. He did pretty well for himself on the back of our work."
Nichol declined to comment. Instead he said, "And the wedding massacre. That was you too."
"Sometimes we like to feel the heat that we cause," Alex muttered. "But it sure did shake up the press."
"I felt that one," Nichol nodded. He swallowed down the memory of being in Trowa's apartment. Everything had been alright back then. But that was then.
"You did?" Alex seemed pleased. If he was smart he was doing vibration analysis and determining in what part of the city Nichol had been to experience their blast.
"I don't know what to pick," Mueller growled. He messed up his hair in frustration. "Hey you, Danil. Did Zero say if he'd liked any of our jobs so far? Does he appreciate what we're shaking loose?"
They definitely aren't random attacks, Nichol realized. These kids have an agenda behind their strikes.
"Don't worry about that," Nichol shrugged. "Doesn't matter if you have long term goals with Zero or not. In this job, you're proving your skills to me."
"We don't even know who you are," Mueller grumbled. Nichol didn't wince, but it was annoying to be a nobody--even if it did give credibility to his current mystique.
"I'm not sure how impressive it is if I have to tell you what to do." Nichol tired of standing in the front room of the apartment where the rude boys had left him. He crossed into what was the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. He leaned back in surprise. Then chuckling, he reached around the boys' project and grabbed a beer.
Opening the drink, he walked back slowly and sank into one of the chairs. Hooking his leg over the arm, Nichol pushed into the cushions and made himself comfortable.
Alex and Mueller stared at him. Waiting. Then they looked at each other.
"I don't want your fake money." Nichol drank slowly. "From what I can tell, you boys are the criminal type. Not cash people. So what are you doing with all that wasted paper? I wonder. Maybe you should show me that job."
"It's capital for a business venture," Alex began to explain then stopped when Mueller interrupted saying, "Not all of White Fang appreciates their new benefactor. And we don't much care for him either."
Acht. Six. And who else? Nichol thought the beer was rather cheap. These boys thought too small. Even at his most ambitious, Nichol knew that appearance, actions, carried far more weight than talk.
Acht. Six. They had real money.
So who needed the counterfeiting?
"We found this guy. He'd not part for the Numbers at all, but he owes the Peacecraft princess a good deal of cash."
"So we told him we'd make it right with the Peacecraft girl if he would be the middleman with White Fang."
Nichol raised his eyebrow and let the edge of the bottle rest against his lower lip. "Don't want to feel the heat on this one?"
"Sometimes it's smart to know when to let someone else hold the package," Alex chuckled.
"In case it goes off." Mueller moved his fingers as if they were flickering flames. "And it will. It will go off spectacularly."
"Because you're damn awful at making forgeries," Nichol said dryly. He wanted... to rob a bank. He wanted to crack a safe. He wanted to do something that meant he was moving forward. Everything was easier if he did it himself, but then he had these young lions.
"What do you want us to do?" Alex had a finger in his ear. "Rob a bank?"
Nichol couldn't hide his smile then. He pulled his legs down to the floor and leaned forward. If he couldn't do it, then he could watch. He said wickedly, "Impress me."
***
Trowa realized he'd forgotten his apartment key when he was halfway up the flight of stairs. He stared at the door but wishing it open did nothing. Even then, he was puzzled over Heero's reaction to Midii. The girl might be somewhat uncultured, but she was about the most helpless thing he'd ever seen from the streets. Why would Heero consider her a threat?
"Oh it's the general rumor. Do you like rumors, Barton?" That voice. Who was that?
"No, I prefer the truth," he answered to no one in particular. Trowa put his hand on the doorknob and it twisted easily.
"Oh! You're back?" Midii stood in the middle of the front room wearing only her underwear and a different t-shirt from before. A quick glance around the room showed that Midii had been cleaning. Trowa had meant to do something about how impossible the place had become, but with the White Fang job and Midii--he'd been distracted.
"Thanks for cleaning up. You didn't have to," he said, noticing that his keyring was neatly hung from a hook by the door. "That's new."
"You had one in a drawer and there was that pattern of strange holes in that place. So I just thought I'd tidy up..." Midii stopped when Trowa kissed her. He kept closing her mouth with his whenever she tried to speak another word.
He couldn't bear hearing her voice anymore. Each syllable was tainted. Liar.
She used her arms to push his hands down to her hips. The rules of sex-with-Midii. He had the strongest urge to break them. Instead, he picked her up and fell on top of her into the bed. He needed a distraction from the voice in his head. The one that told him he could do whatever he wanted.
"You know this doesn't actually bother me..."
Trowa kept his eyes closed. He tightened the effort, straining until in the darkness he saw brief flashes of light like gunshots, but he couldn't find a face to go with the voice. Midii's voice was distracting. He put his hand over her lips, but she yanked away his hold.
"Don't do that. Too rough," she said, upset. More angry than anything else.
The moment was gone and Midii was underneath him again. He rolled to the side and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Midii pressed against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his skin.
Then he saw the screws on the air vents had been turned. She'd been searching his apartment--but not finding anything had stayed around, cleaning up the evidence of her looking and buying herself more time. He could see it now. How had he completely missed the evidence? Had he over compartmentalized the details of his different lives and lost something important?
"You like a great deal of things better than me..."
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Midii said, disappointed.
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"Fine. That's how you're going to play it," she sighed. Then she kissed his shoulder. "I didn't say stop."
He didn't move. Until Heero had said what he did, Trowa hadn't even considered that something wasn't right. But the wrongness of everything settled around him. The apartment was too clean. The sounds were too polite. The jobs were too simple. His cover was too easy.
It was usually at just that time when the job was routine that an FBI agent had his cover completely blown.
But when had it happened? And... Trowa doubted, was that really what had happened?
He was about to ask her to leave when the phone rang.
"Three?"
"Yes."
"Midii Une's name is on the list."
He hung up the phone after listening to the dial tone. That pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He glanced back at the bedroom door. What was he going to do now? Everything had turned sideways.
His shoulders slumped. He rifled through his loyalties for a decision as to what to do next.
Was he going to have to protect her?
Fandom: Gundam Wing, Numbers 'verse
Characters/Pairings: Nichol, Alex, Mueller, Trowa, Midii
Word Count: 1600
Summary: Dark Gangster AU. Nichol enjoys his new job. Trowa doesn't like his as much.
A/N: aquatinted.
***
Nothing has changed, Nichol told himself. Absolutely nothing is different than it was two hours before.
He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles in the curls. Just earlier he'd been informed that he was being let out of a situation where he was a hostage in order to babysit two of the hothead racketeers working under the Numbers. Finding them had been easy for Nichol, not that Alex and Mueller were sloppy as much as Nichol hadn't been able to test his own instincts for so long. He was still capable. It felt good.
And that's what made him trigger the reminder. Nothing is fixed. Everything's still fucked up and bad, he thought. Trowa was in danger, and while Quatre insisted he had that in hand--there was not one thing Nichol could do about it. A vein along his forehead throbbed and became hot.
So he'd been given charge of these two, Nichol glanced at them still arguing in the corner over which job they were going to pull for their next heist. Alex tried to ignore him. Mueller continued to look over at Nichol as if the older man might evaporate and they could relax.
All he had to do was say that Zero sent him and the boys ignited with muted enthusiasm. The authority actually felt good. Nichol crossed his arms and set his jaw, fighting against the emotion with a scowl. Mueller saw, his fingers twitched and he dropped his pencil which started Alex on another tirade about picking a racket that wasn't too easy or that just anyone could do.
"You're the guys who were behind the airport," Nichol said. It wasn't a question, but Mueller nodded.
"That was us." He made a fist. "Until damn Six was given the job. He did pretty well for himself on the back of our work."
Nichol declined to comment. Instead he said, "And the wedding massacre. That was you too."
"Sometimes we like to feel the heat that we cause," Alex muttered. "But it sure did shake up the press."
"I felt that one," Nichol nodded. He swallowed down the memory of being in Trowa's apartment. Everything had been alright back then. But that was then.
"You did?" Alex seemed pleased. If he was smart he was doing vibration analysis and determining in what part of the city Nichol had been to experience their blast.
"I don't know what to pick," Mueller growled. He messed up his hair in frustration. "Hey you, Danil. Did Zero say if he'd liked any of our jobs so far? Does he appreciate what we're shaking loose?"
They definitely aren't random attacks, Nichol realized. These kids have an agenda behind their strikes.
"Don't worry about that," Nichol shrugged. "Doesn't matter if you have long term goals with Zero or not. In this job, you're proving your skills to me."
"We don't even know who you are," Mueller grumbled. Nichol didn't wince, but it was annoying to be a nobody--even if it did give credibility to his current mystique.
"I'm not sure how impressive it is if I have to tell you what to do." Nichol tired of standing in the front room of the apartment where the rude boys had left him. He crossed into what was the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. He leaned back in surprise. Then chuckling, he reached around the boys' project and grabbed a beer.
Opening the drink, he walked back slowly and sank into one of the chairs. Hooking his leg over the arm, Nichol pushed into the cushions and made himself comfortable.
Alex and Mueller stared at him. Waiting. Then they looked at each other.
"I don't want your fake money." Nichol drank slowly. "From what I can tell, you boys are the criminal type. Not cash people. So what are you doing with all that wasted paper? I wonder. Maybe you should show me that job."
"It's capital for a business venture," Alex began to explain then stopped when Mueller interrupted saying, "Not all of White Fang appreciates their new benefactor. And we don't much care for him either."
Acht. Six. And who else? Nichol thought the beer was rather cheap. These boys thought too small. Even at his most ambitious, Nichol knew that appearance, actions, carried far more weight than talk.
Acht. Six. They had real money.
So who needed the counterfeiting?
"We found this guy. He'd not part for the Numbers at all, but he owes the Peacecraft princess a good deal of cash."
"So we told him we'd make it right with the Peacecraft girl if he would be the middleman with White Fang."
Nichol raised his eyebrow and let the edge of the bottle rest against his lower lip. "Don't want to feel the heat on this one?"
"Sometimes it's smart to know when to let someone else hold the package," Alex chuckled.
"In case it goes off." Mueller moved his fingers as if they were flickering flames. "And it will. It will go off spectacularly."
"Because you're damn awful at making forgeries," Nichol said dryly. He wanted... to rob a bank. He wanted to crack a safe. He wanted to do something that meant he was moving forward. Everything was easier if he did it himself, but then he had these young lions.
"What do you want us to do?" Alex had a finger in his ear. "Rob a bank?"
Nichol couldn't hide his smile then. He pulled his legs down to the floor and leaned forward. If he couldn't do it, then he could watch. He said wickedly, "Impress me."
***
Trowa realized he'd forgotten his apartment key when he was halfway up the flight of stairs. He stared at the door but wishing it open did nothing. Even then, he was puzzled over Heero's reaction to Midii. The girl might be somewhat uncultured, but she was about the most helpless thing he'd ever seen from the streets. Why would Heero consider her a threat?
"Oh it's the general rumor. Do you like rumors, Barton?" That voice. Who was that?
"No, I prefer the truth," he answered to no one in particular. Trowa put his hand on the doorknob and it twisted easily.
"Oh! You're back?" Midii stood in the middle of the front room wearing only her underwear and a different t-shirt from before. A quick glance around the room showed that Midii had been cleaning. Trowa had meant to do something about how impossible the place had become, but with the White Fang job and Midii--he'd been distracted.
"Thanks for cleaning up. You didn't have to," he said, noticing that his keyring was neatly hung from a hook by the door. "That's new."
"You had one in a drawer and there was that pattern of strange holes in that place. So I just thought I'd tidy up..." Midii stopped when Trowa kissed her. He kept closing her mouth with his whenever she tried to speak another word.
He couldn't bear hearing her voice anymore. Each syllable was tainted. Liar.
She used her arms to push his hands down to her hips. The rules of sex-with-Midii. He had the strongest urge to break them. Instead, he picked her up and fell on top of her into the bed. He needed a distraction from the voice in his head. The one that told him he could do whatever he wanted.
"You know this doesn't actually bother me..."
Trowa kept his eyes closed. He tightened the effort, straining until in the darkness he saw brief flashes of light like gunshots, but he couldn't find a face to go with the voice. Midii's voice was distracting. He put his hand over her lips, but she yanked away his hold.
"Don't do that. Too rough," she said, upset. More angry than anything else.
The moment was gone and Midii was underneath him again. He rolled to the side and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Midii pressed against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his skin.
Then he saw the screws on the air vents had been turned. She'd been searching his apartment--but not finding anything had stayed around, cleaning up the evidence of her looking and buying herself more time. He could see it now. How had he completely missed the evidence? Had he over compartmentalized the details of his different lives and lost something important?
"You like a great deal of things better than me..."
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Midii said, disappointed.
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"Fine. That's how you're going to play it," she sighed. Then she kissed his shoulder. "I didn't say stop."
He didn't move. Until Heero had said what he did, Trowa hadn't even considered that something wasn't right. But the wrongness of everything settled around him. The apartment was too clean. The sounds were too polite. The jobs were too simple. His cover was too easy.
It was usually at just that time when the job was routine that an FBI agent had his cover completely blown.
But when had it happened? And... Trowa doubted, was that really what had happened?
He was about to ask her to leave when the phone rang.
"Three?"
"Yes."
"Midii Une's name is on the list."
He hung up the phone after listening to the dial tone. That pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He glanced back at the bedroom door. What was he going to do now? Everything had turned sideways.
His shoulders slumped. He rifled through his loyalties for a decision as to what to do next.
Was he going to have to protect her?