( Chapter 10 )
Wufei gingerly
extricated himself from Duo's sleeping hold for the second morning in a row and
staggered off for a shower, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Normally, Monday
mornings weren't a problem for him, but today was definitely an
exception.
*At least I didn't have to hum all night, this time,*
he thought, turning the cold tap up in an attempt to shock himself awake. *
He slept quite peacefully when he wasn't coughing. I kept dozing off
and jerking myself awake so I wouldn't sleep in. If he'd woken up and found me
in bed with him...*
*I'm not really happy about sneaking out
before he wakes up. It feels so much like... like what I did at Quatre's party.
But... I don't know how he'd react if he did wake up in bed with me. I
don't know how he feels about me now. He seems to trust me, but is that because
he doesn't think he can trust anyone else? He might react very badly. And if he
didn't react badly, I'd never be sure whether it was because he felt
pressured to do whatever I wanted. What if he thought I was his only option, or
if he thought he had to pay me back for looking after him?*
*No. Until
he's better, and he's not so dependent on me, I'm not letting him know. Let him
think the nightmares are just dispersing on their
own.*
*...*
*Didn't I have this 'discussion' with myself
yesterday? Why am I going over this again?*
*Gods, I've got
to get some sleep...*
*****
"Heero, you've got to get
some sleep!"
"I'm fine." -takatakatakatakataka-
"Oh really?"
Relena leaned over the desk, but Heero obstinately refused to meet her eyes.
"You haven't eaten anything in thirty-six hours, either. Even for you,
that's pushing it!"
"Hn." -takatakatakatakataka-
She sighed,
pushing herself back upright, and watched him for a minute, then continued on in
a softer voice. "Even if you do find something that you and Trowa
missed... what will you do about it? Duo's been found. You can't change what
happened."
"I want to know." -takatakatakataka-
"But it won't
accomplish anything..."
"I want to know!
Everything!"
The typing stopped. Heero stared down at the keyboard, fists
clenched.
"Then wait until Duo is better and willing to talk and ask
him."
His shoulders started to shake, and she slowly walked around the
desk to his side.
"I know you want to be doing something," she whispered,
"but this isn't going to help... and if something else comes up, maybe something
regarding Duo, you'll be in no shape to handle it. Why don't you get something
to eat, get some sleep...? And then, if you want to do something, you could help
me and Georg go through the message and call archives on my
ex-secretary's computer. I want to know exactly what she said to
Duo, and vice versa."
There was a half-choked attempt at a snort. "Is
that going to accomplish anything more than what I've been
doing?"
Relena's lips thinned into a humourless smile. "Since Ms. Reynard
is attempting to sue me for wrongful dismissal and defamation of character,
yes. I can win the case with just the recording of the call I made from
Quatre's shuttle, but I want to do more than just win. I want to counter
sue for damages on Duo's behalf, and I want to make sure that woman's employment
prospects are gone."
*****
"This is
bullshit!"
Trowa blinked at hearing that in Quatre's voice
and backed up a few steps until he was opposite the door he had just passed.
Pushing it open, he peered into the study.
Quatre was paging through a
handful of printouts, shaking his head. "Iria, who negotiated this contract?
It's crap! The requirements are loosely written, there aren't any
specified standards we can hold them to, there's no provision for
performance reviews, and the only penalty for breach of contract applies to
us! They can get up and walk out at any time they want to without
ever giving us notice, but if we want out to change secretarial agencies,
we still have to pay them the full value of the services they don't
provide - and this contract goes to AC 216! Nobody signs twenty year
contracts for clerical services!"
< < Quatre, I honestly don't know
who's responsible for this. > > Iria said from the vidphone, looking
harassed. < < I've never been involved in the day to day running of Winner
Enterprises or contract negotiations, just general policy formulation and
Research and Development. > >
"I know, Iria; your own work takes up
plenty of your time. I'm sorry I snapped." Quatre rubbed his hand over his face.
"This is just a printout of the text; all it's got at the end is 'signed by a
representative of WEI and a representative of Elite Secretarial Services Inc'. I
need to see a copy of the signed document to find out who's
responsible."
< < Ah... it's a twenty year contract, ending in 216?
> > Iria asked tentatively. < < That means it was signed last year.
When last year? If it was while Father was alive, there has to be
something fishy about it. He would never have agreed to terms like that.
> >
Quatre flicked quickly back to the end of the document, and
then sighed. "Nope. March 15th. That's... wait... three days after Father
died? Who would have been signing contracts then?"
Iria's eyes
widened. < < Serena. > >
"Serena?!" Quatre's voice
almost squeaked. "Serena's never had anything to do with WEI! She doesn't
even have shares! The closest she ever got to the family business was
keeping house for Father!"
< < Yes, which means she was right there
and available after he died. All the rest of us were scattered from here to L5;
it took several days for us to calm down the panic Father's death caused, tidy
up our own affairs, and get back for the memorial service. The will wasn't
sorted out until the 25th; nobody but Serena would be stupid enough to
sign anything before then! > >
"Ohhh... we'd better find out if she
signed anything else!"
< < Well, since she's never been an
official representative of WEI, the contract's not binding. The only way they
would get any sort of breach-of-contract ruling against us would be if they
convinced a judge that they entered into the contract in good faith. >
>
"And with terms like these," Quatre waved the papers, "nobody
in their right minds would ever believe it. Thanks, Iria. Could you contact
Serena and check the original of this contract, please? Make sure it was
her, and find out what else she did..."
< < Sure, little brother.
I'll be seeing you. And get some sleep! You look like you've been on a caffeine
binge again. > >
"Er... yeah. Just a little."
Iria snorted.
< < It's never 'just a little' with you, Quatre. Everything you do is all
or nothing: caffeine, fighting work, love... Which reminds me - Say 'hi' to that
nice European boy for me. > > *Click*
Trowa pushed the door
open further and strolled in. "If she'd stayed on the line a little longer, she
could have said 'hi' to me in person. How are you today, Quatre? I thought you
were still asleep."
"Oh, Trowa, um... I'm fine. I was just, ah..." Quatre
looked embarrassed. "Well, I still want to find out how all this happened,
so..."
Trowa blinked calmly at him. "Since you seem to be going about it
logically instead of wearing a hole in the carpet and giving yourself an ulcer,
I'm not going to argue. What can I do to help?"
Quatre smiled in relief.
"Well, I've asked for a copy of all the standard operating procedures that Elite
Secretarial Services give their personnel, to be e-mailed to me; obviously,
there'll be different ones for people in different positions, so I'm expecting
a lot of stuff to sort through. I'd appreciate some help. We can
concentrate on reception and secretarial staff, which will cut it down." He
frowned. "Elite has apparently been supplying all of the receptionists and
secretaries at WEI and a lot of the lower-level clerical staff for the past
three years or so. Except for my father's personal secretary and she retired
after he died. Duo's messages have to have gone to somebody supplied by
them, but... well, I can't imagine why they'd deliberately work to keep him from
contacting us, but I also can't imagine how all this could be a mistake!
All of Relena's personal messages went through that one woman, but my
messages at WEI come through whichever receptionist takes the call or screens
the e-mail. They can't all be incompetent!"
Trowa frowned
slightly. "If Elite has been working with WEI for three years, and this
contract was signed last year, it has to be at least the second one. What
was the first contract like, and was it actually due for a renewal in
March?"
Quatre blinked. "I hadn't thought of that..."
Fifteen
minutes later, they had some answers.
"The first contract was for two
years, and the terms were much more normal," Quatre said, pushing back from his
desk and rubbing at his eyes. "It was approved by my father and signed by him
and the former head of Elite. He died a year later, six months before my
father."
"So, when your sister signed the new contract, the old one still
had six months left to run?"
"Yes... and I've found notes indicating that
my father was not planning to renew it. He was concerned by a drop in Elite's
standards since the first CEO died and his son took over. It looks like this guy
- Matt Taarnby - took advantage of the confusion caused by Father's death to try
and lock WEI into his new contract."
"That fits with what your
sister says." At Quatre's confused look, Trowa gestured at the computer. "Iria
called while you were going over that. Apparently, 'that nice Mr.
Taarnby' came to Serena with the contract all ready for signatures and kindly
explained that if she wanted business to continue as usual at WEI 'in this time
of trouble', all she had to do was sign on the dotted line. Since Elite was
already working with WEI, she thought there was no point in actually reading the
contract first."
Quatre moaned and dropped his head into his hands.
"That's Serena, all right. Did Iria happen to mention if she signed anything
else back then?"
"Serena doesn't think she signed any other
contracts, but can't remember for sure. Iria's got people checking. Now, since
those procedures you asked for have arrived, why don't you just forward all this
to your lawyers and let them get to work on it?"
"Great idea. Give
me fifteen minutes to write a cover note."
"Fifteen
minutes?"
Quatre smirked. "Finding the proper wording will take a little
while. Which do you prefer for the closing sentence...'take this jerk to the
cleaners' or 'drive him naked into the financial desert'?"
"I like 'drive
him naked into the financial desert' personally. Perhaps you could add something
about bleeding feet and stony paths; that seems to be traditional in Arabic
maledictions."
---------------
Since Quatre was developing a
headache from peering at the computer screen but refused to take a break once
the message to WEI's lawyers had been sent, Trowa printed out the different sets
of S.O.P.s. Both boys took a handful of the resulting stack of papers and
settled down on the sofa.
[[Five minutes later]]
"What the...?"
Quatre muttered. Trowa raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Quatre pointed at
something on his paper. "Here, see? When a receptionist takes a call on one of
the public access lines - the ones listed in the phone books - and doesn't
recognize the caller, they're supposed to 'generate an electronic Record of
Conversation and file it in the Low Priority Message folder'. What's this Low
Priority Message folder? I've never heard of it."
Trowa blinked. "I was
just about to ask you about the 'Low Priority Message physical file'. That's
where clerical staff is supposed to file any 'unsolicited paper communications'.
Letters, in other words."
"I wonder if there's one for e-mails..."
Quatre's voice trailed off, and he started flicking quickly through his stack of
pages, skim-reading; then he muttered an oath and dumped them on the floor,
heading back to the computer. A quick keyword search brought up dozens of
mentions of 'low priority messages' on the S.O.P.s.
"So much for saving
your headache," Trowa muttered, moving to lean on the back of Quatre's chair.
"What have you got?"
Quatre didn't answer until he had finished scanning
the search results; then he leaned back in his chair, hands pressed to his face.
"I think I know what happened," he said, his voice
muffled.
"And?"
The blonde boy sighed, letting his hands drop
limply into his lap. "There are all sort of things that are supposed to be put
in various 'low priority message' folders or files. Letters from the public that
aren't complaints or from a major firm, records of phone calls from people the
receptionists have never heard of, e-mails from private individuals... What I
can't find in here is anyone who's responsible for going through those
folders and deciding what to do with those messages!"
Trowa's eyes
narrowed slightly. "So... they dump them in these folders and they just
sit there."
"Seems so."
"And that's where Duo's messages
are."
"I'd say so, yes." Quatre pinched the bridge of his nose and
squeezed his eyes shut. "Duo never had to call WEI during the war; I wasn't
there, after all. So he doesn't know any of the private com codes, and
none of the receptionists know him. Same with e-mails. Duo's messages to us have
just been falling into an electronic black hole... along with Allah knows what
else!"
"And this has been happening for three years?!"
"Oh, no,"
Quatre chirped, suddenly falsely bright and cheerful. "Only for about the last
eighteen months. That nice Mr. Taarnby redesigned the S.O.P.s a couple of
months after Serena signed his contract."
"Want to bet he was able to cut
the number of staff he provided to WEI?"
"I don't bet against sure
things," Quatre grumbled. "Once they weren't having to think about what to do
with most of the messages they got, of course he could provide the same
level of service with fewer people. I don't think I like 'nice Mr.
Taarnby'!"
"Think of the satisfaction you'll get out of telling him that
his nice little fiddle has just ruined his company," Trowa purred softly into
his ear, sliding his arms around Quatre's shoulders in a comforting hug. "Now...
do we go trawling through the 'electronic black hole' for Duo's
messages?"
"Of course!" Blue eyes blinked up at him. "Why wouldn't
we?"
The taller boy grimaced. "It's just going to upset you."
"I'm
already upset, Trowa. If we don't look, I'll just wonder."
Trowa
sighed, nuzzling briefly into Quatre's hair. "True."
Quatre turned back
to the keyboard and keyed in a new search.
Trowa watched for a moment,
then turned away to the vidphone. "If we're going to do this," he muttered as he
keyed in a code, "we might as well go all the way... Hello, Ninke."
<
< WEI, Ninke Assink spea... Mr. Barton! How can I help you? >
>
"Do you have any idea what and where the 'Low Priority Message
physical files' are?"
< < The... what, sir? > > The
white-blonde haired man looked puzzled.
"I didn't think you knew about
them, Ninke. If you had, you would've made sure something was done about
them." Trowa sighed. "The clerical staff WEI hired from Elite Secretarial
Services apparently keeps files for 'low priority messages'. Anything they can't
immediately work out how to handle goes into one of those files and
rots."
< < Ah. I see... Does this have anything to do with Mr.
Winner's memo to the liaison staff last week? I, ah, wasn't on the distribution
list but... > >
Trowa nodded. "We're looking for any messages Duo
Maxwell sent us. If you saw the memo, you know the time period we're interested
in. Get your hands on a copy of Elite's S.O.P.s if you need more info on the
'low priority' files. We'll handle the electronic archives; you grab as many of
the clerical staff as you need and go for the paper files."
Ninke nodded.
< < Will do, Mr. Barton. I'll inform you as soon as we find anything. >
> *Click*
"I keep expecting him to say 'ryoukai'," Trowa
muttered. "Or at least the Dutch equivalent."
*****
Wufei peered
cautiously into the bedroom. "Oh, good, you're awake. I have to go downstairs
and do some laundry... is that okay?"
Duo sat up, struggling to hide the
flash of panic he felt hearing the words 'I have to go' from Wufei's mouth.
"Laundry?"
"Yes, we don't have any clean sheets or towels." Wufei walked
over to the wardrobe and pulled a hamper out from under the bottom shelf,
scowling at it. "I should have done a load last week... The laundry room is in
the basement. It should only take me about forty minutes to get this washed and
put it into the dryers, and then I'll be back. Will you be okay that
long?"
Duo pushed the covers back and swung his legs off the
futon.
"No! Duo, no, I'm not taking you with me this time." Wufei
struggled to sound firm. "You really do need to rest and the laundry room is
not a good place for you right now! It's noisy, and the ventilation isn't
the best; it's always full of steam and fifteen different types of soap and
fabric softener. You'd take one breath and start coughing." That thought
stiffened his resolve and he was able to meet Duo's eyes steadily. "No,
Duo. I promise, I'll be back as soon as possible. You are staying
here."
Duo stood up unsteadily and walked out to the couch,
trailing a blanket behind him. "I'll wait," he said quietly.
Wufei
sagged, sighing in relief. "Do you want anything before I go?" he said gently,
following Duo out and tucking the blanket around him after he sat down.
"Something to drink?"
"...No. Thank you." *I want you not to
go!*
"Okay. I won't be long. Are you warm enough?"
Duo
nodded.
Wufei grabbed the hamper and walked to the door, glancing into
the kitchen and scowling as he passed it. "I'll do those when I get back," he
muttered.
Duo sat tensely, watching from under his bangs as Wufei stepped
into a pair of sneakers and reached for the door. *He isn't leaving,* he
thought, fingers clenched on the end of his braid. *He said he isn't leaving.
He hasn't put on his coat, he isn't leaving the building! He'll come
back...* He flinched as the door closed, then drew in a shaky
breath.
*He isn't leaving.*
*He's coming
back.*
Duo sat in silence for a few minutes, huddled into the
blanket; then he carefully disentangled himself from it and stood
up.
*I can do that before he comes back, at
least.*
---------------
Wufei took the stairs back to his
apartment two at a time. *I was lucky there was a washing machine
vacant,* he thought, scowling to himself, *and even luckier that many of
the women living here prefer to hang their clothes out on the balconies instead
of using the dryers. I usually do my washing at night; I should have realised it
would be busier at this time of day!* The scowl deepened. *Washing at
night also means less people try to start conversations with me. How many
of those women were watching out their windows Saturday night when I brought Duo
home? If I have to hear one more question about my 'long-haired
friend'...*
*At least I'm not late!*
A crash of
breaking glass came from the kitchen as he opened the front door.
"Duo?!
Are you all right?!"
Duo looked over his shoulder at him, eyes wide and
frightened, as he skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Wufei blinked in
confusion as he took in the scene. The braided boy was leaning heavily on the
kitchen bench in front of the filled sink, next to a dishrack full of clean
plates.
"Duo... what are you doing?"
"I broke a glass," Duo said
in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not worried about the glass,"
Wufei insisted. "Are you all right? You're supposed to be resting, not doing
housework!"
"I'm nearly finished," Duo said, turning back to the
sink.
"That's not the point! You don't have to- you're bleeding!"
Wufei exclaimed, grabbing Duo's shaking hands in his. He sighed in relief as he
examined the cuts. "It's nothing serious. Here, run it under cold water..." he
turned on the tap and pushed the cut hand gently under the stream. "I'll get the
first aid kit."
"I'm sorry." Duo said quietly as Wufei turned away; the
Chinese boy paused, looking back.
"You've got nothing to be sorry
for, Duo."
Duo sat silently, head bowed, as Wufei carefully
bandaged the worst cut; it was shallow, but too long for just a band-aid to
cover it.
"Why were you doing the dishes?"
"...I'm sorry about the
glass."
Wufei bit back an exasperated sigh. "Duo, I'm honestly not
upset about the glass. I bought a dozen of them from a supermarket when I moved
in here, and I've already broken two myself; they're cheap, mass-produced
things, towards which I have no sentimental feelings. And even if it had been
handmade crystal, I still wouldn't give a damn! I was worried because you
were hurt, and because I had no idea what you were doing up."
When Duo
didn't respond, still looking down at his hands, Wufei continued.
"You
don't have to do the dishes, Duo. You don't have to do anything except rest and
get better."
"...I'm not a bum," Duo whispered. "I don't want
handouts."
Wufei's eyes widened. *I may kill that woman yet...* He
squelched that thought immediately, forcing down his anger, holding it for
later. *I will find an opportunity to do something about her- find, hell,
I'll make one. But not now.* he thought determinedly. *I can't be
angry now, or Duo will think I'm angry at him.*
He reached out
gently and lifted Duo's chin, waiting until Duo raised his eyes to look at
him.
"You're not a bum, Duo," he said earnestly, trying to show the truth
of what he was saying with his eyes. "You never were. And this isn't a handout.
You're my friend, and you'd do the same for me."
Duo blinked, holding
back tears. "Friend?" he said shakily. "You're still my friend? I didn't think I
had any left... I thought I'd made you all hate me."
"No!" Wufei
insisted, reaching out for him instinctively. "I never hated you, and I never
will. Nobody hates you, Duo!"
Duo started to sob, tears spilling
down his cheeks as he crumpled against Wufei's chest. "B-but I screwed up. I got
it wrong and I m-made you mad at me, and I ran away... and then the others, I-I
must have done something wrong. I didn't realise, but I must have screwed up
with them, too... What did I do, Wufei?"
"It wasn't your fault!"
Wufei held the sobbing boy gently, stroking his hair as he tried desperately to
explain. "It was my fault. I wasn't mad at you... I was...scared." He
swallowed. "I was afraid that I'd made you hate me... so I
ran away. I should never have left you like that; I screwed up, not you.
Never you... And the others... I don't know what happened, but they were
so worried when we realised you hadn't been in touch with anyone. I'm
sure they didn't mean to cut you off..."
"B-but I must have done
something to deserve what happened..."
Wufei's arm tightened around Duo.
"Tell me what happened," he whispered.
*****
"How much stuff is in
here?!"
Trowa blinked at the computer screen as Quatre scrolled through
the 'Low Priority Messages:Phone' folder. Screen after screen of file titles
zoomed past.
"That's a lot of phone messages," he commented.
"I
know," Quatre muttered. "They could have put more information in the
titles. 'Record of Conversation' and a date time stamp does not help when
you're looking for a name."
"So run a keyword search."
"I
tried. It didn't work. Look," Quatre said, stopping the scrolling and clicking
on a title to open a file, "it's an electronic form, not a normal text or word
processing document, and it's not set up to allow keyword
searches."
"Well, that's useful. I can see that a lot of
thought was devoted to helping people retrieve this information."
"Guess
who designed the form."
"That nice Mr. Taarnby," Trowa chirped,
voice dripping sarcasm. "He negotiates contracts, writes S.O.P.s, and
designs databases! He is so talented..." He rolled his one visible
eye.
"This isn't a database," Quatre sniffed. "It's the electronic
equivalent of a trash bin."
"Like I said, he's talented," Trowa said,
dryly. "He's re-invented the circular file, updated for the electronic age. I'll
try to work out some way to hack the keyword search into the forms; you work on
the 'e-mails' folder. At least they still have their original subject
lines and 'senders' addresses to search by."
"And if that's not enough, I
can run a keyword search," Quatre said, smiling wryly.
Trowa snorted and
sat down in front of another terminal.
----------------
Twenty
minutes later, Trowa had decided that 'That Nice Mr. Taarnby' probably qualified
for the title of 'idiot savant'. He sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow;
his latest attempt to write a program that would reliably search Taarnby's form
not only hadn't worked, it had also crashed his computer.
*This
is ridiculous,* he thought, hitting the 'reset' button. *If this was an
OZ database, I'd be in by now, and they tried to keep people out.
Taarnby just doesn't care whether or not people can get in... hm. I wonder...
would it have been good or bad for us if Taarnby had been working for OZ during
the war? We would have had a hard time getting to their data, but so would
they!*
"Oh... Oh, no..."
"Quatre? What's wrong?"
The
blonde boy was staring wide eyed at his screen, one hand pressed over his mouth.
Trowa stood quickly and moved to his side.
Quatre shakily pointed at the
screen, eyes never leaving it. "I only found one message from Duo's old e-mail
address," he whispered, "s-so I was looking for other addresses... then I
searched by 'Shinigami', and I found that one... and I-I looked for other
messages from the same address, and... Trowa,
look!"
-----------------------
end 'Reunion' chapter
10
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