by Hex
Written for the SDQB Action Challenge
Quatre let out a heartfelt sigh and pushed himself up from the floor. He could feel dirt and grease squish under his hands as he contorted his body into an upright position.
"Ow," Quatre grouched, muttering obscene things about the inconvenience of handcuffs under his breath.
"I second that," Trowa said. Quatre could hear the other man move, probably rearranging himself into a sitting position as well. Quatre blinked slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim room. At the moment he could vaguely make out Trowa's shape as the brunet squirmed against handcuffs. From what Quatre could see, the room was bare, it felt damp and he could almost smell the dirt. The room appeared to be about the size of the average office. Quatre would have sworn it had been one at one point except it was sorely lacking in windows.
Trowa wobbled where he sat for a moment.
"Did the egg crack?" Quatre teased.
"No, at least I don't think I'm bleeding, but I do feel a little scrambled," Trowa admitted. "I think if I had enough light to see clearly, there would more than likely be several of you."
"Do you think you have a concussion?" Quatre asked, concern colouring his voice.
"I think I'll be fine given a little time. Well, where are we? Were you conscious when they moved us?" Trowa asked, a small groan of pain escaping his lips.
"I was conscious but disoriented. I believe we're in the northwest section of the building facing the parking lot. There's the faint glow of streetlights but not the cheesy neon lighting that was all over the strip." Quatre squinted to get a better look at the room. "We didn't go up any stairs or ride an elevator so it's safe to assume we're still on the main floor. The room has one entrance opposite to our position. There's one light source, the window over your head. It looks like there's a light fixture on the ceiling but I'm not sure it's functional."
Trowa shifted to take a better look at the window.
"It's too small for either one of us to fit through. That leaves the door. Looking at it from here, there's no handle on this side and trying to break through it would hurt us more long before we would hurt it," Trowa pointed out.
"Which means the ideal escape plan would need to occur once the door was opened from outside," Quatre supplied. He pursed his lips and considered their options.
"What do we have to use as weapons?" Trowa shifted against the wall to face the room.
"Four rows of knuckles," Quatre answered. He nodded his head towards the room, unsure if Trowa could see the action clearly or not.
"Oh boy…" Trowa trailed off.
Quatre could see Trowa leaning forward and resting his head on his knee.
"There are at least four hostiles. There could be more, but I wouldn't count on less," Quatre said, "Do you have your handcuffs picked yet?"
"Almost. How did you know? I thought I was being quite stealthy about it," Trowa said.
"It was a practical leap in logic," Quatre replied. "Could you get mine as well? I didn't bring my lock picks to dinner and I'm in no mood to dislocate me thumb,"
"You're implying that you /are/ occasionally in the mood to dislocate your thumb?" Quatre huffed at the smile he could hear in Trowa's voice. "Give me a minute." Quatre could hear the sounds of Trowa working the lock. "Done, let me see yours."
"You see mine on a regular basis," Quatre teased.
"I'll see yours when we get home," Trowa promised. "You know, it's that sort of teasing that got us into this in the first place."
"Well, when I was making wildly suggestive comments in your direction I didn't think we would end up literally falling into a drug den of sorts," Quatre answered, and rubbed his wrists after Trowa freed him from the handcuffs. "But I'd like to point out you're the one that sent us crashing through the door."
"I didn't realize it was open when I threw you up against it, fully intent on ravishing you," Trowa retorted. "I had plans to be on top of you, but not in the middle of a rundown building."
"And definitely not when the building turns out to be a drug den," Quatre pointed out.
"Definitely," Trowa echoed. Trowa reached behind his head and fingered it gently.
"Do you think that light fixture is working?" Quatre asked.
"There are no light switches in here, so it's a moot point," Trowa answered, getting up and stretching.
"I was thinking that we might be able to use the wiring inside," Quatre stood. He stared straight up at it and tilted his head to the side.
"As a weapon. It would be short range, but since we're waiting on them to open the door anyway…" Trowa trailed off.
"Exactly. And then, in theory, we can secure at least one gun," Quatre confirmed. "So, shall I lift you up to the light fixture to see if we can get it off, or are you going to lift me?"
"I think I'll lift you," Trowa answered. "You're lighter and I'm still feeling a little wobbly. I'd feel better closer to the ground."
"You're sure you're going to be all right?" Quatre asked. Trowa nodded and made a sling out of his hands for Quatre to step in. Trowa grunted as Quatre put his weight in the brunet's hands. Trowa wavered a bit but managed to stay steady. "Well, thank you for being flat head screws."
Quatre gently unscrewed the light bulb and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. He slipped his nail into the screw on one side of the light fixture and twisted. His nail snapped and Quatre cursed.
"What's wrong?"
"I ripped my nail right in half," Quatre grouched. He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment. He could taste blood. He ripped the nail that was still hanging, the rest of the way off. "I might need your lock picks to get this thing started."
Quatre dropped down from Trowa's hands and snatched the lock picks that were handed to him. After several false starts and a considerable amount of cursing, Quatre got the first screw out. The second came out easier than the first. Quatre tossed the plastic cover to the side and licked his lips.
"If you feel a jolt try not to drop me too hard," Quatre joked.
"Not funny, Quatre," Trowa muttered.
"Always so sulky," Quatre mumbled before he grabbed at the wire leading to the light. Quatre gave a vicious tug and more wire came out. He dropped down from Trowa's hands and gave another rough tug on the wire. He and Trowa had to move quickly as chunks of the roof's plaster rained down on them.
"Pulled down too much," Quatre said, sheepishly.
"Ya think?" Trowa asked.
Quatre gave Trowa a dirty look he wasn't sure the other man could even see.
"Ah, here it is," Quatre said, happily, fingering the metal strip that kept the wires bundled together "This is probably going to take a while."
Quatre grabbed one of the wires and began working it against the metal strip. Suddenly he gave a rather rough jolt and fell to the ground.
"Quatre!" Trowa barely managed to kneel next to him before Quatre snorted.
"So gullible."
"Such an asshole," Trowa countered.
Quatre eased himself off the floor. Trowa gave Quatre a gentle nudge as he got up which had the blond fumbling slightly. Quatre caught himself with his fingertips, hissing in annoyance as he scrapped them slightly. His finger still throbbed where he had ripped off his nail. He could feel Trowa looking at him.
"Yes, yes, I deserved that." Quatre muttered.
Trowa moved to the door, pressing his ear against it. Quatre worked at the wires, finally slicing through one with a triumphant noise. It was just long enough for him to wrap a length of wire around each hand with slack in-between for an average size neck. Quatre gave the wire an experimental tug. It gave a satisfying dull twang and he smirked.
Watching the varying shades of gray that made up Trowa in the dark, Quatre blew his bangs away from his face in a small fit of growing frustration that he was trying to ignore.
This night had been planned nearly a month ago. Quatre and Trowa were both busy people and had hectic schedules. The past three months had seen them living apart as opposed to their usual arrangement of sharing a home. Quatre was working on L2, spearheading a campaign for the increase of minimum wage and lending WEI's big business name to some of the smaller, struggling businesses on the colony. Trowa was working full-time with the Preventers. He had taken up a position in the Hazardous Materials and Dangerous Goods department.
Their work had separated them for the time being, but they had managed to arrange this night to spend time together. The dinner had gone well, casual flirting and lewd suggestions, mostly from Quatre's end of the table had made up most of the conversation. Trowa had done nothing more than eat suggestively, which had really only spurned Quatre on. The result had been them stumbling from the little hole in the wall Indian restaurant, their hands all over each other. An original and provocative suggestion from Quatre had resulted in Trowa picking him up to pin him bodily against the door to the abandoned warehouse. Unfortunately for them, the door gave, they went tumbling to the ground and Quatre ended up cracking the back of his head on pavement. They had both been rather surprised, Quatre even a little blurry eyed, when one of two men had smacked Trowa in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Quatre had gotten a glimpse of gaudy jewelry and tacky clothing, but a kick to the head had made everything go black.
Quatre had been jolted from unconsciousness when they had touched his back. It was bruised and scraped from the drop through the door and stung when touched. He had kept still and observed what was going on. He hadn't been able to see Trowa so he had remained limp and relaxed while they snapped handcuffs onto his wrists. He was dragged down a hall with open doors. Quatre had glimpsed several rooms with some rather questionable looking equipment and people putting a white powdery substance into bags. Quatre was by no means a narcotics expert but he was able to come to the likely conclusion. The tour was short and Quatre was tossed into a dark room with Trowa's unconscious form.
Trowa pulled his ear away from the door and motioned for Quatre to take position. Quatre pressed himself against the wall on one side of the door; Trowa hovered near the other. The door was pulled open and light flooded the room. Quatre had the wire around the man's neck before he could do anything. He forced his elbows into the man's back and pulled. Quatre got a harsh whiff of the man's body odor and nearly gagged. The pungent man reared back and clawed at the wire. He tried to reach behind him and clawed at Quatre's face. His nails were long and fierce. The flesh on the side of Quatre's face tore but he was mollified by the fact the man hadn't managed to grab his ear. Quatre tried to stay focused but he watched as Trowa struggled to keep his arm firmly around his opponent's neck.
The man Trowa was grappling with was a tall, thin, squirming thing. He stomped on Trowa's foot, Trowa responded with a rough jab to the bladder. The wiry man threw his head back but Trowa dogged the attempt to break his nose. Quatre reasserted his attention as the odorous man flailed for a few more minutes, then slowly crumpled to the ground. The skinny man Trowa was choking finally collapsed to the ground, limp. Quatre pressed his index and middle finger to his opponent's neck. He still had a pulse. Quatre patted him down and let out an annoyed noise.
"Mine's still alive," Quatre said as he stood. The blond sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "He's unarmed though."
"Same here," Trowa said, "I don't like the chances of us getting out of here without a weapon."
"I don't either," Quatre answered. "But we really don't have a choice."
Quatre nodded towards the door. They both crept along the wall trying to move as quietly as possible. They had managed to inch their way to the end of the hall without being seen. Quatre glanced behind him and shook his head at Trowa. The emergency exit near the room they had been locked in was stuck or boarded shut from the outside. The windows in other unoccupied rooms along the way had either been the same relative size as the one in their makeshift cell. This had left them with one way to leave, the way they had entered. Quatre peered cautiously around the corner and held up a full hand of fingers at Trowa. Trowa pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, then pointed to his eyes.
The room was larger than the one they had been in, but it was just as empty and dirty. Quatre peered cautiously around the hall corner to where the five men milled around the entrance. There was another door opposite of their intended exit but without knowing where it led, neither Trowa nor Quatre were prepared to run the risk of losing a chance at escape on that particular shot in the dark.
The tallest of the five hanging around the exit was also the one with the largest build. He had greasy hair that might have been several shades lighter if he washed it. He was wearing dirty jeans and a ripped T-shirt. Quatre could make out a fine sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He seemed to be sweating just from standing up. There was a skinny one with the slicked back hair who was sucking on a cigarette next to him. He was wearing a suit that looked like one of Howard's favourite shirts had vomited all over cashmere. It was tacky in a manner that caused physical illness.
One of the men laughed, revealing a gold tooth. His hair was shaggy and he needed a shave. He was wearing black pants and a green button up shirt. He topped it off with a black jacket and gold chain. Toothee punched the man closest to him in the arm in a friendly manner.
He was older than the rest, soft around the middle; his mid-section hung over his belt and plain black pants. He had probably always been a bigger man. He had broad shoulders and a receding hairline. His collared golf shirt was tucked into his black pants.
The last one was wearing a black suit and white shirt. He had dark hair and skin with a slightly olive hue that made him sickly looking. He was glaring at the other men and stood slightly away from the pack, closer to Quatre and Trowa. There was something off about him that Quatre couldn't quite place, although the blond would have bet money that Olive-man was in less than perfect health. Olive-man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a fat cigar. The shift of his suit jacket revealed a holstered weapon.
Quatre pointed to his eyes and patted just under his armpit on his left-hand side. Trowa nodded and motioned towards himself. Quatre gave a confirming nod. Trowa motioned that he would take the armed man in an attempt for the gun while Quatre kept as many of them occupied as possible. It was the only way they would have a chance of making it out alive. Quatre held up his hands in a 'T' shape and shifted down. He moved slowly and prayed he wouldn't been seen until they could make their move. Reaching around the corner, he wrapped his hand around the neck of the beer bottle that was lying prone on its side and slithered back behind their corner. He waved the beer bottle at Trowa and Trowa nodded in agreement. Quatre launched the beer bottle at the man in the suit. It made a dull, sickening sound as it slammed into his skull. Olive-man staggered and dropped to his knees.
Quatre and Trowa both rushed the armed man at the same time. It was a good four-meter dash to the door but they made it before the gun was out of its holster. Trowa tackled him to the ground. Quatre veered and shoulder checked the heavy-set sweater with the greasy hair. The air came out of the big man's lungs in a whoosh that sprayed a gag worthy smell over Quatre's face. He reached up and grabbed the man by his unclean hair and smacked his head into the wall. Eyes crossed before Greasy's body went limp. Quatre let him drop to the ground.
A pair of arms wrapped around Quatre from behind; his arms were pinned to his sides. Quatre reared his head back and heard a crunching sound followed by cursing. The grip around his middle tightened. He struggled, then decided to change tactics as he watched the man with the gold tooth crack his knuckles and grin. Quatre stopped struggling as Toothee advanced on him. Quatre pushed off the ground and swung his legs up to kick Toothee in the stomach. He watched as Toothee crumpled to the ground, cradling his middle.
The man holding Quatre snarled something rude in his ear. Quatre reared his head back again. The man cursed and dropped him. Quatre was up and on his feet as quickly as he could manage. Trowa was scrambling on the ground for the gun, struggling with the chubby, older man. The gun's owner was unconscious as far as Quatre could tell. He listened but tried to avoid focusing on what Trowa was doing. They both had to do their part and count on Trowa to take care of himself.
Quatre squared himself to the man with the tacky clothing. Tacky was gingerly fingering his nose and glaring. Toothee was still trying to get his breath back and was prone on his side. Tacky charged him with a right hook. It left his body wide open. Quatre grabbed the cuff of Tacky's jacket and added a rough tug to the man's forward momentum. He pulled back and swung, hitting the man hard in the face with his elbow. The familiar sound of crunching cartilage split the air. Quatre was positive he had broken Tacky's nose. It was satisfying. Tacky stumbled back and whimpered, blood pouring down his chin.
Quatre advanced on Tacky; ready to break other parts of him but a sound had the blond turning and ducking at the same time. Quatre felt his opponent's jacket ruffle his hair as he dodged the swing of his opponent's fist. It had been a close call. He punched him hard in the gut in response. Toothee gave a low snarl. His gold tooth winked at Quatre before he collapsed on the ground. Quatre gave Toothee a good kick to the middle to make sure he stayed unconscious. He turned a circle looking for Tacky, but the God-awful suit seemed to have disappeared.
"Coward," Quatre muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Quatre looked over his shoulder to see Trowa rubbing his sweaty face on his sleeve. The armed man and the chubby one were unconscious behind him.
"Exit stage left?" Quatre asked, he turned and gave a mock bow.
"You're in a mood tonight aren't you?" Trowa asked, grabbing Quatre by the arm and hauling him towards the exit.
"I've missed you, that's all," Quatre answered and followed where Trowa led.
"What did Une have to say?" Quatre asked. He was sprawled on the hotel couch still in his dirty suit.
"She told me the next time I go for dinner I should take my badge and gun," Trowa said.
"Because that would have guaranteed they'd kill us," Quatre snorted, throwing his arm over his eyes.
"Actually no, she didn't say that. I was just thinking it. Apparently it was a rather small drug ring. They were a group that had broken away from the Diablo's. Needless to say they weren't exactly big time."
"Hence the lack of weaponry and security," Quatre murmured. It was more of a thought, spoken out loud.
"Not to mention the nervousness at having someone literally stumble on to them."
"We're lucky they just didn't kill us outright. I'm surprised they had the forbearance," Quatre muttered. "Usually when they're that skittish..."
"We were lucky and I'm glad." Trowa grabbed Quatre by his collar and kissed him. Trowa had pulled Quatre half out of his seat with the kiss. He dropped the blond back into the couch without ceremony and made his way into the bathroom.
"I believe I was tormenting you with suggestive comments and you made rather lewd promises," Quatre called so that Trowa could hear him over the now running shower.
"Join me then." Trowa called over the sound of the shower.
"Oh, you better believe it."
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