~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: Blood, MAJOR Quatre torture, maybe OOC, and of course, angst

~ Note: Takes place after the war. All reviews appreciated, and flames will be my inspiration for future fics (meaning I'll just imagine what I want to do to the flamers and make that happen to one of the characters) Remember the warning and REVIEW!

~ Demons are everywhere –even in me ~ 

~ Obsidian Night: Part I ~

Quatre stood at the window looking out at the black desert night beyond the glass. It was so dark, black like obsidian. No lights pierced the night in the distance to illuminate the desert blackness. It was so much like that night three weeks ago, too much like that night…

Immediately Quatre banished the thought of that night from his mind; he couldn't let himself dwell on those memories. It would be too much. The memories would drown him, reaching up with dark tendrils and pulling him down into their depths, never again to see the light. Quatre turned away from the window and its view of the oppressing darkness.

He walked in the direction of his room in his house, turning on all the lights in the rooms and corridors he passed through. He knew that if he were caught wandering in the darkness, the awful memories of that night would come back to torment him. Quatre was anxious to get to the safety of his room. An unexplainable feeling of foreboding hung over him, as if his Uchuu no Kokoro was warning him of approaching trouble.

Making it to his room without trouble, Quatre lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was tired, but didn't want to sleep. The war was over and the peace undisturbed, hopefully for a long time. Alone but for the servants in his big house, Quatre found himself missing the company of his fellow ex-pilots.

Without warning the house was plunged into complete and total darkness.

Quatre lay on his bed for a moment, desperately hoping that the power would come back on at any moment. Absently he fingered the scar stretching from his left shoulder to just above his right hip, souvenir of the event of that night. The moments stretched into minutes and Quatre began to get anxious. It was as if the blackness outside had swept into his house, taking over everything. It was so dark and quiet, just like that night not so long ago…

The memories took over Quatre's mind and he was powerless to stop them. Only light would chase away those terrible memories and keep them at bay, like a fire repels wild animals. With the light stolen from him, Quatre could do nothing to stop the waves of memories washing over him, threatening to drown him in their dark depths.

~~~ Memory Sequence ~~~

The night was oppressing and black as obsidian, but Quatre was restless. Despite the hour he thought to walk around the city, just till he got tied. Ignoring Rashiid's fears for his safety, Quatre walked out to his car. It would have been wiser if he had listened to the older man.

Leaving behind the warm safety of his house on the new colony, Quatre drove in the direction of the city lights. It wasn't far; he was there in a few minutes. The hour was late and the streets almost empty. Only a few people were out and about at almost midnight. Quatre parked his car and got out. He wandered the streets looking at the unlit stores and darkened houses.

The garish streetlights illuminated the night in the immediate vicinity. Still, the night seemed dark and heavy beyond the reach of the streetlights, pressing down around him. With his fair skin, blond hair, and light colored clothes Quatre stood out in stark contrast with his surroundings. He didn't realize what an easy target he posed for someone with evil intentions.

Quatre walked on, not paying much attention to where he was going. The houses and stores began to look more rundown, and there were more bars and clubs. With garbage lying around, these streets were in worse condition that the cleaner main roads. Quatre didn't notice he had entered the worst area of the city until he was deep in the heart of it. He was turning around to go back when a small gang approached him.

Although he was new to the area, Quatre could tell that the boys meant him harm. Before he could leave, the gang attacked. He hadn't forgotten what the war had taught him about defending himself. He dodged punches and kicks, only retaliating enough to get the gang to back off. He was fine until the knives were brought out.

Quatre's eyes widened at the sight of the gleaming blades. "What do you want from me?"

They sneered but didn't reply. Instead they jumped on Quatre, using their blades to make him bleed. They didn't cut him deeply, just enough to make his blood drip. Quatre knew they wanted something and needed him alive to get it.

An unseen fist connected with Quatre's stomach, making him gag. While he was doubled over trying to get his breath, one of the gang raised his arm. The handle of a knife crashed down on his head.

Quatre fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from the wound on the back of his skull. The gang stood over him, feral smiles on their faces, Quatre's blood on their knives. They bound, gagged, and blindfolded him, then tossed him in the trunk of a car. They drove off leaving nothing to show of the struggle but for a small puddle of Quatre's blood.

~~~

The strong stench of booze and stale vomit pulled Quatre from unconsciousness. The metallic taste of blood was heavy on his tongue from a cut on the inside of his cheek. His arms were extended above his head, suspended by chains. His feet too were chained, preventing him from moving much. The blindfold and gag were still in place.

Strain as he might, Quatre could hear nothing except for his own shallow breathing and heart pounding heavily, the sound loud in his ears. There was a whoosh of warm, musty air against his sweat-dampened skin. To Quatre's immense relief he was still fully clothed. The sound of laughter reached his ears, carried on the breeze made by the opening of the door.

"We oughtta get a lot from this one."

"Yeah. Good thing the Winner boy come lookin for us, steada makin us go lookin for im."

The voices dissolved into laughter once more. Slowly the meaning of those statements sunk in, and Quatre went stiff. They had taken him captive for ransom, not knowing that he had disinherited himself by going off to fight in the war.

What would they do when they found out he was worthless to them? Would they let him go? Or would they kill him, thinking Quatre's disinheritance was a hoax? Exactly who were these people? The questions circulated in Quatre's confused mind. However, his Uchuu no Kokoro told him that he would soon know. He was filled with fear at that thought.

Suddenly they surrounded him, the alcohol in their blood streams making them over-confident. Smelling the foul stuff on their breaths, Quatre felt like gagging. A fist connecting with his gut made his stomach heave and he almost lost his dinner.

He was hit in the head so hard that back of his skull slammed into the solid wall behind him. Stars danced in the blackness before his eyes, melting and merging together then separating once again. Vaguely Quatre was aware of something warm and thick sliding sown the back of his head. The cut from earlier had reopened.

Quatre stood panting and fighting back nausea. He strained to hear a noise that would alert him to their next move, but the loud laughter effectively masked any sound. Sharp pain radiated up from his shin causing him to gasp in pain. Quatre refused to give them any more of a reaction. He knew that if they even suspected how much pain they could cause, they would harm him all the more. Past experienced with OZ had taught him that if he so much as whimpered the attacks would be a hundred times worse.

The kidnappers weren't impressed by Quatre's reluctance to acknowledge the pain. They poked, prodded, punched and kicked at him. The only response they received was when they boy tied to double over, only to be restrained by the handcuffs. They repeatedly hit him in the head. After one unusually hard blow that knocked him into the wall again, Quatre wondered if they had given him a concussion. He didn't doubt it.

This abuse continued until he could hardly breathe and sweat was streaming down his aching body. Quatre refused to show his discomfort, pushing back the feelings of terror welling up inside him. A commotion halted the attacks. Because of the blindfold, Quatre couldn't quite tell what was going on around him. Thankfully, he could still hear. The perspiration clinging to his skin allowed him to know when the air in the immediate vicinity moved.

A gruff voice assaulted Quatre's ears. "Yamero." That one word was heavy with warning, daring anyone to defy the speaker. The voice commanded attention and some odd form of respect. It wasn't as if you were before royalty; it wasn't that kind of respect. This was more along the lines of 'I'm bigger and badder than you so you damn well better do what I say.'

When that one word, yamero, was voiced, all activity stopped. Instinctively Quatre knew this was the boss, the leader of this sadistic gang. All orders coming from this guy would be carried out without hesitation. The others were afraid of their bigger, gruff leader. Quatre could feel their fear, making the room seem too small for comfort.

Heavy footfalls approached Quatre. He could feel the leader's eyes roaming over his body from his arms chained above his head to the blindfold, down the length of Quatre's slightly quivering torso, all the way to his ankles bound in the cuffs. The man's piercing gaze unnerved the small Arabian boy.

"This one's too pretty to be a boy. You sure you got the Winner boy, not one of his sisters?"

A shiver made its way down Quatre's spine. He didn't like the way things were going. The leader's words were laced with scorn for the boy before him, potent with hidden meaning, hinting at things to come. Extremely unpleasant things, if he could trust his Uchuu no Kokoro.

"Well, I guess there's only one way to find out." It wasn't the leader but one of his loyal goons who made that suggestive statement. A tendril of fear snaked its way into Quatre's heart.

"Later." Quatre was tremendously relieved. "Did you deliver the ransom note yet?"

Someone must have replied in the affirmative, but Quatre didn't hear the reply. Too many thoughts circled in his mind, too many questions. He had been right; they had abducted him for money. But they didn't know they would get none. They didn't know Quatre had disinherited himself by fighting in the war. No matter how much his sisters loved him, they wouldn't be able to stop this gang.

Most of the Winner fortune had been donated to charity. Quatre's father had left each of his children enough money to allow each of them to live the rest of their lives, not in the luxury they had lived in before, but pretty close to it nonetheless.

There would be no way to pay the outrageous sum of money that was undoubtedly demanded. He would die unless he managed to escape, on his own or with help, it made no difference. He knew none of his sisters were capable of breaking into this place and getting both of them out, undetected and unharmed.

Briefly Quatre considered the authorities, but no. This gang had probably warned in the ransom note and if the police were contacted they would kill him. That meant he would get no help, unless one of the former Gundam pilots came to his rescue. But none of them would be notified of his disappearance.

Unless Quatre managed to get himself out of there by himself, he would be tortured and killed, this he knew.

A swift, sharp jab to his ribs brought Quatre back to the present. He winced inwardly. The elbow, at least he assumed it was an elbow, had landed very solidly right on a slowly forming bruise. He thought it was from a fist, but it could very well have been from a boot. The earlier brawl had been too fast-paced for Quatre to know exactly what had connected with which part of him.

"-don't look much like a boy." Someone was bent over Quatre, blowing air tainted with alcohol onto his face. "You sure we can't, er, examine him?" The boy in question didn't like the way the word 'examine' was emphasized.

Someone else sighed in exasperation. Quatre heard incoherent mumbling. When someone fumbled with the front of his shirt he pulled back as far as he was able. Despite his efforts they unbuttoned his shirt. Because Quatre's arms were suspended above his head, it wasn't possible to take the shirt completely off unless the shirt were ripped or the handcuffs unlocked. They left the shirt hanging open.

He heard some whispered comments and even a low whistle when his shirt hung open around him. Quatre stood uncertainly, waiting for whatever was next. If not for the fact that he could practically feel their eyes on him, he would have relished this moment of relative peace. The stress was beginning to get to him, and knowing everyone in the room was staring at his chest wasn't helping any.

"Well. Guess you did get the right one."

"You sure we can't look for more, uh, evidence?"

Quatre drew in a sharp breath. They wanted to WHAT?! Even with the blindfold he knew a few, if not all of them were eyeing his crotch. He felt his face grow warm with both that thought and the fury that they would even consider it. They had no right to do that!

But they had attacked him, brought him here against his will, and chained him. If they had done all that just form for money, what was to stop them from doing more? He shouldn't be surprised that they would go so low as to sexually harass him. The words that reached Quatre's ears next eased his fears, if only for the moment.

"No. We just captured him. No need to rush. He ain't goin anywhere."

So Quatre knew he was safe, at least for the moment. However, maybe this was worse. Now he knew one thing they had planned for him, but he didn't know when it would happen. They may decide to "search for evidence" later on today, or maybe they would wait until tomorrow, of the day after.

But when would tomorrow arrive? Quatre had no way of telling the time, or even if it was day or night. If there were windows he wouldn't be able to see outside them because of the blindfold. He didn't even know how long he had been unconscious so he could make an estimate.

Warm air brushed past his arm, still a few degrees cooler than his fair skin. Either the people around him were moving or the door was opening. Quatre hoped that the door was opening to let the people out of the room. He listened intently to the footsteps and was relieved to hear them moving away from where he was tied.

Quatre figured most of the gang members left the room, but he knew a few were left in the room with him. His assumption was confirmed when someone poked him in the ribs.

"So. Looks like it's just you n me till someone else takes over." Quatre was beginning to consider the options available to him when his guard spoke again, almost to himself. "Now, what to do with you?"

Quatre barely had time to register a low chuckle before something connecting with his stomach made him want to double over. The man continued to strike Quatre, a low chuckle coming from his throat all the while. Quatre heard but failed to register the sound. It wasn't until much later that he would realize that this man was only one of the newer members. The others were much worse.

The man punched Quatre square in the face, and the boy could feel the blood dripping. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and salty. He tried to spit it out, knowing that blood is bad for the digestive system. Unfortunately, the gag was still firmly in place, refusing to let the boy rid himself of the blood in his mouth. Quatre couldn't keep the liquid in his mouth forever. Either he forced himself to swallow the salty liquid, or he could try to get the gag to absorb the blood. Quatre opted for the second choice.

He opened his mouth and allowed the blood to seep out onto the gag. Quickly the strip of fabric became soaked with blood. It was heavier than before, and sticky. There was still a little blood left him Quatre's mouth and he swallowed it. He had a feeling that when he got out –if he got out –he would have more to worry about than just a little blood in his system.

Pain skittered up from Quatre's foot marking when a heel ground into his toes. A faint crunch was barely audible as bones broke. In spite of Quatre's training he almost cried out as he felt the bones cracking beneath the heavy boot. Quatre knew he had been through much worse during the war but the pain was still strong.

Since the war had ended Quatre had been taking it easy. There was no longer the need to be ready to fight at any given time, no longer the need to constantly train. Yet Quatre continued to train, knowing there was always a chance that another war would arise along with the need for soldiers.

Eventually the man tired of tormenting the young boy. Because of the blindfold and the pain Quatre could not tell where the man had gone, only that it was somewhere off to his right. He had no idea how long the attack had lasted. Time was irrelevant as was knowing when the sun rose and when it set.

Although he was incredibly tired, Quatre didn't sleep. He told himself that he had to be ready for the next attack. Even if he hadn't stifled the urge to sleep, sleep would have evaded him. The pain from his numerous wounds was enough to keep him awake for days.

What seemed a few minutes later, but could well have been hours later, something happened. Sounds reached Quatre's ears, sounds of boots thudding against the concrete floor and loud voices talking. Then dim light pressed against his eyelids through the rough weave of the blindfold. Even this dim light seemed painfully bright to Quatre's overly adjusted pupils.

A few thin tendrils of fears snaked their way into Quatre's heart. He had no idea of what was going to happen to himself in a few short moments. What was certain was that he was not going to like it, but no doubt his captors would enjoy it. He was not kept in suspense for long.

The sound of a knife being whetted reached Quatre's ears. He prepared himself for the feel of cold, hard steel pressing against his skin, but the feeling didn't come. Quatre's heart thudded in his chest, drowning out the noise of what was going on in the room around him. It was because of this that he failed to hear the sound of a gas torch being turned on.

Perhaps the fear of the unknowing clouded Quatre's mind. He was able to hear a slight, continuous hiss under and between the beating of his heart. A peculiar smell assaulted his nose. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. A vague memory lurked just beyond the reach of Quatre's conscious mind, teasing him.

Slowly the memory became clear. At first it was veiled, indistinct, shapes and sounds blending in with each other. Gradually the scene became clearer. Eventually Quatre was able to make out the shapes of buildings, red flames rising up to lick at the sky. He remembered screams of pain and terror filling the smoky air, and a strange smell all around.

The smell in the memory and the one that was now permeating the air were the same. Fire, powered by gas. Quatre did not realize the meaning of his realization until too late. But even if he had known what was about to happen there was nothing he could have done. Bound as he was, Quatre could hardly move an inch.

Burning hot metal against his skin brought the Arabian back to the present moment. He fought back a gasp of surprise. The people around him must have noticed because a low chuckle ran through the room. The metal, a knife, Quatre realized, pressed closer to the tender skin on the side of his neck.

Carefully Quatre swallowed, but despite his efforts the hot knife cut into his throat. The feeling of blood dripping was becoming rapidly familiar. The blade was removed; apparently they weren't going to end his life that quickly. Something was rubbed into the fresh wound that stung badly, making Quatre cringe and suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

"Couldn't you come up with anything better than salt in a cut?" The voice was patronizing.

"Well it worked, didn't it? He's in pain!" The second voice seemed defensive.

"That wasn't very original, y'know." Another voice spoke up.

"Like you could do any better?" Quatre became slightly alarmed at that statement.

"Well duh! I'm not an idiot like you."

"You callin' me an idiot?"

The argument continued. Quatre half hoped it would last a long time. The longer the argument, the more time he had. However, the angrier the people, the more they would hurt him. Quatre hadn't been afraid of being tortured by OZ, mainly because he had been able to see the blows coming, so he was able to prepare himself, even if he hadn't been able to dodge the attacks. With the blindfold in place, he would not be able to prepare for the attack.

"Yamero." Again the deep voice of the gang leader silenced his followers. "Tell me, one of you, is his family going to pay or not?"

"I-iie. They, they said-" A growl from the leader put an end to the stuttering.

"What did they say? Someone better tell me!"

"They said they couldn't pay it. He isn't –they said he isn't the heir any more. He's useless to us."

"NANI!?"

Quatre barely felt the wave of fear pass through the room. He was too overwhelmed by his own fear. He had the distinct impression that it was not very smart to upset the leader. The consequences could and very well would be extremely dire.

"They probably lied," Someone else spoke up. "They probably thought we would let him go if we thought he was worthless."

Quatre assumed the leader was considering the worth of the man's words. He had hoped that they would let him go. The moment the follower finished his thought that hope was dashed. From the viewpoint of the leader that suggestion would sound very plausible.

"Send one more message. Tell them that we will kill him if the ransom is not paid by tomorrow noon."

Quatre felt his throat constrict with fear. He would die. There was no way his sisters could pay that ransom. By fighting in the way, he had basically stated that he didn't share the family's ideals. To his father that meant his son was a traitor. He had forbid his daughters to financially help their brother, but he was not so cold-hearted that he refused to let them help him any other way. Quatre knew he was in trouble.

Warm musty air once again brushed against the boy's skin; one of the gang members had left to deliver the leader's message. As soon as he had left the leader spoke.

"And now we'll show you how to properly inflict pain upon someone."

Sounds of scuffling and a muffled yelp of surprise reached Quatre's ears. He braced himself for pain to erupt on his body and the feel of blood sliding down his skin to the floor. Another yelp, this one of pain, almost drowned out the words that came at the same time.

"Don't use a sharp blade; a dull one hurts much more."

"I must admit, the fire was an interesting idea, but it's better alone." Another yelp followed the statement.

When no one attacked him Quatre realized exactly what they meant by showing how to "properly" inflict pain upon someone. Instead of making the person watch while the rest of the gang hurt their captive, they figured "hands on" experience was the best. Torturing one of their own was a drastic method of teaching someone a lesson. Even though he felt a little sorry for the man, Quatre had to admit that he was glad he wasn't the one being tortured.

Although he wasn't the one being physically tortured, every time they struck the man Quatre was pained. His Uchuu no Kokoro was channeling from the other man, bringing some of his pain to the young boy. He sucked in a deep breath. The restraints kept him from grasping the fabric of his shirt, now hanging open, and attempt to alleviate the pain.

Quatre felt it was his fault he felt the other man's pain. He had been glad of the fact that he wasn't the one being tortured instead of feeling completely sorry for the man. Quatre saw it as Allah's way of punishing him for being selfish. It never occurred to him that it was perfectly normal for one to feel relief about the fact that one wasn't being tortured. Even if it had, when had his life ever been completely normal?

Quatre had no idea of how long the gang tortured one of their own. It might have been a quarter-hour or mere seconds. Time was unstable and irrelevant. Time seemed to speed up and them slow down unchecked. It didn't matter how time progressed because there was little to no hope of his being rescued.

Yet he held on to that hope, fragile as it was. There was always a chance, slim though it may be, that one of his sisters had contacted one of the ex-Gundam pilots. If they had even informed Rashiid there was hope of rescue. There was always hope, there had to be hope. For when hope died all life ended.

"Hey, I think our little captive is feeling left out." The voice pulled Quatre from his inner mulling.

He experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach as the gang members crowded around him. Quatre's throat constricted in fear again, making it hard for him to breathe. He could feel their breath hot against his skin, stinking of beer, vomit, and rancid food.

A boot connected with his shin directly on top of the bruise from a previous kick. Quatre sucked in a breath through tightly clenched teeth. Excruciating pain engulfed his right hand unlike any blow previously dealt. A jagged strip of pain began at his left shoulder and worked its way to just above his right hip. Blood gushed from the fresh gash, staining his skin and his pants with the red liquid.

The attack continued, blows coming too fast for Quatre to realize just what was happening. All he was aware of was fiery pain exploding over his body, and every now and then that same pain that covered his hand would appear somewhere else. Fire, his mind slowly supplied; he was feeling sluggish from the blows appearing all round.

Something sharp struck him once again in the skull and he knew no more.

~~~

When Quatre came to he was acutely aware of the throbbing all over himself. Everything hurt, especially his head. A wave of nausea passed over him. Quatre waited until it passed, then shifted his arm. He could feel the rough weave of fabric against his tender skin.

Quatre froze, thought suspended in his muddled brain.

Fabric? Against his skin? But last thing he remembered was being chained in an upright position, arms above his head, blows from an unseen enemy winding him. Why could he feel fabric against his arms, legs?

Had he been rescued? Had someone pulled him from the sadistic gang's grasp? Quatre opened his eyes to see his savior, but found he could see nothing. The blindfold was still in place. Why?

As his brain began to clear Quatre realized he was lying on his back upon a rough material, limbs chained. So. He had not been rescued; his savior had not come. His limbs were chained, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, hope of rescue diminished.

When his mind was working again Quatre began to wonder why he had been re-chained on his back. An answer came to mind immediately: rape. They had wanted to look for more so-called "evidence" that he was a boy and they had been presented with the perfect opportunity to do so with little chance of their victim resisting in any way.

Yet his backside was not in as much pain as he expected accompanied rape. Perhaps they had not attempted yet, but they very well might have raped him and the pain would come the moment he moved. Quatre desperately wanted the first to be the case, although he knew the other was just as likely. Quatre let out a small groan; he couldn't help it.

A low voice reminded him that they had never left him unattended since they a first acquired their little prize. "Are you awake yet Little One?"

~ Tsuzuku ~

~A/N: Mwahaha. Yes, I am evil. Major cliff-hanger. Was that Trowa, or just some jerk who decided to call Quatre 'Little One' by mere chance? I know, but I'm not saying a word! Feel free to flame, complain, etc. I'm working on the next part, and hopefully I'll get it up soon. Ja!