Roaring 20s Part 2

[Amanda Dale]

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of GW. I just like to borrow them and dress them up in period costume from time to time.

Roaring 20s
Chapter 2

The club's doorman didn't question him. The thought crossed his mind as the man with the messy dark hair approached that he looked a little young to be here, but then he caught the young man's eyes. Cold, intense Prussian blue, there was nothing remotely childlike about them. Looking at those eyes, the doorman swallowed his qualms and politely ushered him in.

Once inside, it was easy for Heero to lose himself in the crowd. In immaculate white linen and gray flannel, he didn't look that different from the rest of the elegant idlers filling the smoky, loud, dimly-lit room. The main thing that might set him apart was his hair; taming the rebellious waves into a fashionable slick-back took an incredible amount of pomade, and he abhorred the glop. A close observer might have noticed subtle differences in the way he moved, but that too, could be readily explained. England was full of men who had enlisted young, and he wouldn't be the only one who couldn't seem to completely put the War behind him.

Ironic. What kind of reception would he get if they could see him for what he was? Recent years had seen a great number of expatriates arrive on England's shores, but they had done little to lessen the distrust of foreigners. Heero Yuy could pass rather easily for English, but the first language he remembered speaking was Japanese. He thought his mother must have been European; he seemed to remember her having blue eyes like his.

There was very little he did remember about his parents. All he knew for certain was that they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps he had been hit in the head during the chaos, or perhaps it had been simple shock, but his first clear memory was of sitting on a deserted street beside the bodies of his parents, the night air filled with screaming and gunfire.

He struggled through the chaos, operating on the blind instinct to survive, with no idea of where he was going or why. Buildings were ablaze on some of the streets he wandered down. And then he ran into a band of soldiers, drunk on looted wine. They had yelled something at him in German, then repeated it in crude French when he failed to respond. Still, he stared at them blankly.

The nearest man snarled something derogatory and backhanded the boy into a nearby building, much to the amusement of his comrades. He got up slowly, not comprehending the sneering remarks, but conscious of something building in the back of his head: a dangerous, white-hot rage. Even in his confused state he could sense that these men had had some hand in the destruction of his world. When one of the men got up and walked towards him, he bared his teeth and prepared to launch himself at the enemy.

But before he could move, another hand shot silently out of the mouth of the alley behind him and yanked him backwards. He felt himself being unceremoniously hauled through the blackness. No footsteps pursued them; apparently the men on the street hadn't considered it worth pursuing.
After a while he found himself on what looked like the edges of town, near the docks. As he caught his breath, he looked up at the hitherto-unseen person who had pulled him away. Looking down at him with ironic gray eyes was a lean, middle-aged man with short gray-brown hair. "Speak English, kid?"

He nodded.

"Are your parents alive somewhere?"

He shook his head.

"Where are you from?"

"I don't know." The reply came out in Japanese. He could understand English, but it wasn't the language he spoke instinctively. Surprisingly, however the stranger seemed to understand him.

"Well, I've gotten you this far, I might as well take you the rest of the way out of here. Listen, we're going to be going through some pretty dangerous ground. Just watch me, and say as little as possible. Call me "father" and if anyone asks, your name is Odin Lowe Jr."


Heero frowned, trying to clear his head of the images of the burning town. Remembering the past was useless and might distract him from the current mission objective. He sidestepped a man with the vacant stare of someone who doesn't yet realize that they've had too much to drink, shielding his own untouched glass and wishing he could have postponed this until the club was closed. Unfortunately, a place like this wouldn't be really empty until the early hours of the morning, and he couldn't afford to wait that long. It had taken his sources long enough to pinpoint this place as a contact point for his quarry that now time was running dangerously short.

He had to hand it to OZ's London operators; this was a perfect location. Any number of people could come and go at any hour without being noticed unduly. However, that particular kind of cover could also work in his favor. He pushed his way nonchalantly through a curtained doorway leading into the building's inner recesses. After checking that the coast was clear, he artistically rumpled his coat and shirt, splashing some of the contents of his glass around the collar, then proceeded down the corridor.

There were three doors along the hallway, one on each side and at the end. As he approached, someone came hurrying out of the first door, which seemed to lead into an office. The thin, nondescript-looking man gave him a startled look, before asking "Can we help you with something, sir?"
Heero mumbled something fairly incomprehensible, except for the word "washroom."

"Of course, sir. If you'll just go back and through the door to the right of the bar," the clerkish type told him, pointing firmly back the way he had come.

Heero started slowly back, until he heard the sound of another door shutting and then quickly made for the office. He was certain the door on the right was the exit he'd seen in his earlier reconnaissance of the building. Judging from the noises issuing from it, the one the man had disappeared into had been a kitchen. What he was looking for had to be in here.

It looked perfectly ordinary. Knowing he didn't have much time, Heero ran through his knowledge of the building's layout. The most likely prospect was along the far wall, which held a row of coat hooks, and a filing cabinet. The third hook slid abruptly backwards, and a section of paneling in the corner opened silently. Without hesitation, he ducked through the doorway, into a small room. A trigger along the wall closed the panel behind him.

The main piece of furniture was a large desk, holding a compact telegraph apparatus and a thin book. Ignoring both for the moment, he drew a lock pick out of his cuff and set to work on the first drawer. Luck seemed to be with him; it contained a sheaf of papers, neatly arranged by date, and not in code. Concentrating on the most recent of the data, he set himself to committing as much as he could to memory before replacing them in the drawer.

Heero turned his attention to the telegraph. It was only a moment's work to wreak havoc on the machine's internal workings. He hoped he had managed to make it look like a random mechanical failure. OZ didn't need to know that they had an enemy in London just yet, but he considered it worth the risk to interfere with their communications. A late order might just buy a little badly needed time for his allies.

Not that they wouldn't be finding out they were a target soon enough. This evening's mission had guaranteed that he and his allies had the information they needed to start carrying the war to the enemy.

As he had suspected, there was another exit; presumably so anyone using this room could make a quick escape in emergencies. It took him a little more time to locate and open the trapdoor. By this time, there were noises in the office outside. Finally, however, he found the trigger, and a moment later stood in the darkened alley behind the building.

He set off at a fast walk, heading away from the club and straightening his coat as he went. He still smelled faintly of alcohol, but he doubted it would cause much comment at this hour. Just ahead the alley opened up onto a better-lighted street, and leaning against a streetlight was a figure enveloped in a slightly grubby-looking overcoat, features hidden by a cloth cap pulled low over his forehead.

Heero started to go into a defensive stance, but was forestalled by an American-accented voice. "Hey, pal, need a cab? You don't look like you should be driving yourself"

"What are you doing here?" Heero growled.

"Thought you might like a ride, that"s all." The newcomer gestured grandly towards a low-slung black Ford parked at the curb. Violet eyes glinted mischievously in the lamplight. "And I was kinda curious to see if your jaunt tonight was worth it."

"It was," Heero informed him curtly, opening the passenger side door. "You shouldn't have come; someone might have noticed you loitering here."

"Why do I ever bother doing favors for people, when this is the thanks I get?" he other man sighed, climbing into the driver's seat. "When I think-"

"Shut up and drive, Maxwell."

[kmf]

Amanda! Im so pleased that you are posting this here - you know, this story is one that has stuck in my mind ever since you started writing it. I can wait for a new chapter to come out *rubs hands in anticipation*

[Aristale Wolf]

COOL!!!! i was wonderin when hed show up...but when do they meeet up with hil and lena???? cant wait for the next chapter...hope its soon...