Warnings: foul language, especially on Duo's part, shounen ai.
Pairings: established Heero & Duo, implied Trowa & Quatre. Treize Khushrenada is married to Lady Une, Zechs Marquise and Lucrezia Noin are engaged.
Category: AU, drama, slight angst.
Summary: Psychotherapist Zechs Marquise is found dead in his apartment, murdered. The last patient to visit him was Quatre Raberba Winner, sole heir of the vast fortune of the influential Winner family, and victim of a mysterious, tragic car accident. Detectives Maxwell and Yuy are on the case.
Key: ------------ = scene change
"See you next week!"
Without awaiting the answer, Quatre Raberba Winner closed the door behind him. He shifted his position in his wheelchair and put his hands on the wheels. It was difficult to move on the thick carpet in the hallway, it felt like he was wading through a mud pile. The carpet muffled every sound as he slowly made his way towards the elevators. The plastic bag in his lap rustled. Quatre had seen a trashcan halfway earlier and he motioned towards it. He opened the lid of the bin, when the elevator doors at the end of the hallway opened. A tall, slender young man stepped out and looked surprised.
"Quatre! You're finished early."
"Yes, Marquise had another appointment, so we decided to quit earlier." The plastic bag was too big for the bin, and Quatre pushed harder.
"Let me help you with that." With a few steps, he was close to the bin and reached out to help.
"It's okay, Trowa." Quatre pushed once again and the bag disappeared. He rubbed his hands. "Okay, let’s go home."
Trowa started to push the wheelchair towards the elevators.
"What was it that you needed to throw away?"
"My old seat cushion," Quatre answered. "Tell the chauffeur we need to drive by Atkinson's to pick up a new one, and we need to stop at the pharmacy."
"He didn't prescribe you new medications, did he?"
"Marquise did want to try out a new combination. It would help lift the depressive moods."
Trowa shook his head, unbeknownst to Quatre.
"You need medication to get out of the wheelchair, not drugs to feel happier."
Quatre snorted. "Well, as soon as you've found the answer to my medical predicament, let me know and I'll be happy to try it out for you."
"I'm sorry, Quatre. That was rude of me."
"Never mind. Don't forget, the accident wasn't Marquise's fault."
"No, not Marquise's fault," Trowa repeated. "Not Marquise's fault."
The elevator closed its doors.
Heero Yuy valued silence. He had made sure the towel was thick enough to muffle the sound of an obnoxious loud ticking cartoon clock, currently standing on the desk of his colleague, friend and lover Duo Maxwell.
"We'll never go again to Disneyworld," he murmured and went ahead with his paperwork. It was good to know that at least someone in this office was doing the paperwork. Ah, to see every form filled out, to see every blank filled in with black ink. To put the pieces of the puzzle together by comparing evidence, testimonials, reports. He valued efficiency as well.
His laptop beeped an 'incoming message' sound at the same time Hilde announced herself with a firm knock on the door.
"Hi Heero. Hey, isn't Duo around?"
"He's to testify in the Quinze case," Heero answered, eying the stack of files she was carrying. "As soon as he's done, the case is closed."
"Great. God knows we don't need that kind of political turmoil right now."
Heero leaned back in his chair. "There'll always be people who think they can unleash their ideas on a world that doesn't need them. His plans to hurl a colony towards Earth were totally ridiculous, yet he had an assembly of followers. They're the most dangerous, Hilde-- the ones who’ll follow their leader no matter what. So blind...but I don't think that's why you visited me."
"I've got new cases for you," Hilde said, handing three files over to him. She saw the clock and laughed. "Noise too much for you?"
Hilde Schbeiker was one of the few people who could get away with jokes and certain quips. She was a childhood friend of Duo, and she was assumed to become his wife, until he told her that Heero was the one he was going to spend his life with. It proved to be no obstacle for their friendship and even though Heero was reluctant to admit it, he was pretty found of the brash Hilde himself. She was also one of the few people who were honest to his face.
"I shouldn't have given into him," he sighed. "But I had to give in, eventually. He would've nagged me silly."
"No more Disneyland," she laughed. "Although I sure hope to get another mug for my collection. I'll only miss out on the Simba one."
"No more Lion King either," Heero grumbled. He was about to say more when the door went open again and Duo rushed into the office.
"I'm gone for a few hours and already you're trying to claim Heero, aren't you?" He gave a friendly peck on Hilde's cheek.
"You're back early," Heero said.
"That's not an answer to my question." Duo turned around, chestnut braid swishing in the same direction. "Well, do you plead guilty or not, Hilde?"
She raised her hand. "Guilty, officer."
"Detective," Duo mock-growled. "Detective Maxwell, if you please. And you better come up with a good answer. You too, Heero. You were far too social with her. Don't make me punish you!"
"It took you years to get me out of my shell, as you told me over and over again," Heero objected, "and now that I'm socializing you're going to punish me?"
"I think that's my cue to leave," Hilde chirped and moved towards the door. The telephone rang.
"I've got it," Duo said while he was loosening his tie. "Homicide Division, Maxwell here."
He listened intently, while Heero checked his email. "What is it, Alex? How's the wife and kids? What? Murder? Did you see "A Bug's Life" yet? Where? Let me get my notebook."
Duo scrambled for his notebook and pen, and scribbled something on the paper. "A-ha. Okay. Okay. We'll meet Otto there. Okay. Thank you!"
He hung up. Heero was studying the files Hilde gave him and ignored the noises Duo made while changing into something more comfortable. He choose his black attire again, with a white, high collared shirt, and sighed audibly. He hated his 'court-clothes', the stunning dark blue suit he always wore when he had to testify for a case.
"Let's roll, Heero," Duo said. "Murder on Bexhill Road."
"Bexhill?" Heero stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Isn't that the Bexhill Building, where the cheapest apartment sells for half a million?"
"Don't tell me you keep up with the real estate market," Duo snorted, and they left their office.
The Bexhill Building was a prestige project of a select group of influential engineers, architects and designers, and was built to offer the best of the best to the few elite who could afford an apartment.
Duo whistled when he stepped out of the car. Two porters, both in pristine dark red uniforms, looked a bit nervous. A police car, an ambulance and the car of the coroner were parked in front of the building; the valet boy also looking a bit nervous. A bunch of curious people occupied the pavement, whispering and gossiping.
Duo flashed his badge in front of the porter and was inside before someone could even think of stopping him. Heero walked calmly behind him, badge tucked in his belt.
"Talk about luxury," Duo muttered under his breath. Even Heero was impressed with the obvious decadent display of a marble fountain with a statue group of three graceful ladies pouring water into the basin. The floor and the escalators were also carved from marble, and the lamps, doorknobs and railings were coated with gold leaf. The temperature in the giant hall was a bit on the damp side; Heero knew it was on purpose, to keep the exclusive plants in the terra cotta pots at their best.
"Where do we need to go now?"
"Fourth floor," Duo answered and pushed the button for the elevator. He snorted when they stepped on the thick carpeting. "Who in their right mind puts carpeting in an elevator?"
"Someone who knows their occupants don't chew on candy or slobber a milkshake when they're in the elevator," Heero pointed out.
"Duly noted," Duo mumbled.
"We're here."
Duo lifted his hand and waved when he saw the familiar colleague in front of the apartment.
"Hey Nichol! Long time no see, man."
"Hey Duo. How's the Quinze case?"
"Over and done with," Duo grinned. "For the next twenty years, he can mull over his plans for world dominations in jail."
"Excellent. Hey, Heero."
"Detective Nichol," Heero answered him formally. He didn't have the joviality Duo radiated and he didn't pretend to have it either. He was used to Duo's gregarious nature, and his tendency to touch people. It pained him for a long time to see Duo dealing with people so naturally, so easy, and he was jealous at his skills to interact, to touch, and to talk so freely. Heero wasn't the one to wrap his arm around someone's shoulder and act all familiarly; once he admitted that it was no use for him to pretend, he didn't care for his reputation of being 'cold' or 'distant' much more. What mattered to him was what Duo thought of him and Heero knew he could count on his love.
Nichol motioned them to go inside the apartment. "Otto's already here."
"Thank you," Duo said and slapped him on the back before he entered. He whistled again. "Fancy."
Three police officers were standing in the corner, talking to a woman who had her back turned to them. Heero noticed her braided hair and her crimson red dress. Dolce & Gabbana, his mind provided him. He had a knack for observation and for details; it helped that he had spitted through a whole catalogue of the fashion designers because Duo wanted to give Hilde an outfit for her birthday. When they'd seen the prices, they settled for a scarf and some perfume.
Two assistants of Otto and the coroner were waiting patiently until they received his approval to transport the body. The coroner himself was checking the victim to prepare his preliminary report.
"Hey Otto," Duo greeted him as if he was a long lost friend. The man looked up and smiled. "Duo, nice to see you."
"What do you got for us?"
Otto put up his hand to acknowledge Heero, who answered him by putting up his hand too. He was already busy collecting information from the, indeed fancy, living room.
Nichol had followed them inside, providing latex gloves and bags. "The crime scene investigation team has already been here, but you'll never know."
Duo carefully walked around the body and kneeled beside Otto. The victim laid on his back, arms outstretched, the crimson stain hardly noticeable on the red shirt. Otto pushed away platinum blonde bangs to check the victim's face for more injuries.
"Cause of death?"
"Shot through the heart," Otto answered. "I know more after the autopsy of course, but on first sight I'd say he didn't sustain any other injury beside the gun shot."
"Instant?"
"Instant. Whoever it was, it was a good marksman."
"Almost like a sniper."
"That's your job to find out. I'll make sure to send the reports your way."
"Thanks Otto, I appreciate it. Do we know who he is?"
Nichol cut in. "Here you are. Zechs Marquise, 26."
"What a shame. Who called in the murder?"
"Relena Darlian, over there." Nichol pointed at the woman standing with the three officers.
"Okay, thanks. Heero?"
Heero was in the open kitchen, behind the bar. "Yes?"
"Well, what do you think?"
"The shot came from here, seeing his position on the ground," Heero said. He tried to measure it.
"That must've been one tall son of a bitch."
"Do you want to see the news, Quatre?"
"Business news only," Quatre answered. He looked at the stack of paper on his desk and sighed. "Just the highlights."
"Having a headache again? Do you want me to get some..."
"No, it's okay. Just turn on the TV."
Trowa did as he was bid to and went to search for the remote. The door to the study opened and a young, Chinese servant entered, carrying a silver tray.
"Your tea, master Quatre." The silverware rattled when he put it on the mahogany desk. He busied himself with the teapot and the cups.
"Will Master Barton have tea?"
"Coffee, please," Trowa answered, while he clicked on the remote.
"As you wish."
"Thank you Wufei," Quatre said. "Ah, cinnamon tea. You don't know what you're missing, Trowa."
"I'd like to keep it that way," Trowa chuckled and switched channels. "Oh, wrong one..."
"No, wait!"
Trowa refrained from clicking another button. Quatre paled.
"What is it?"
"Look at the screen...look at it!"
Trowa focused on the screen. "But that is...the Bexhill building? What's going on?"
"Murder in the Bexhill Building," Quatre said softly. "I wonder who the victim is."
He didn't pay attention to the news reporter; he was carefully adding sugar to his tea.
Chapter 2 (not up yet)