Disclaimer: Despite my best wishes, Gundam Wing has not been gifted to be by the people that really own it. Oh well, I suppose that they must love it more then I do (though I find that hard to believe). Hopefully they can forgive me for indulging in a little creative juice-squeezing. ~Dusha
The Need to Fight
Quatre gazed out over the landscape, contemplating. Life didn't seem so complicated here, when the only disturbance was the wind through the sepulchral mid-morning mist and the sound of his own breathing. Despite the stark contrast of this arboreal landscape with his native land, the woodland felt peaceful, safe, complete-like home. The young Arab had taken refuge here to escape, not only from the vengeful O.Z. soldier contingents that constantly searched for him in the far away city, but from his own conscience and the life he had embraced.
He would be lying if he said that he had no regrets. Years of his life had been dedicated to becoming the perfect soldier, but time and experiences had shown that was not the case. He had failed to be the single minded drone of destruction that the Resistance had thought they needed. In that way all of the Gundam fighters had failed, and Quatre had led the way, even encouraged them to. Unlike Heero, he had learned to accept this less-then-perfect aspect of himself, willing to sacrifice his life for his humanity if necessary. It was in his nature-his compassionate, innately pure heart-which both cursed him and drove him to turn hi s back on his beloved Sandrock in search of solitude.
From the lichen-pot marked outcropping there was no view, only a canvas of weathered leaves draped in all directions in their natural grace, while the armor plated trees, protected by their scale-like bark, rose like wounded sentries around him. Quatre sighed, while tracing unconscious geometric patters in the ageless stone on which he sat. Despite how he valued his own tenderness, finding it a redeeming quality, going against his own nature in battle tore at him and drove him to dark reflection.
The Gundam pilot blinked, attempting to use the brief darkness to erase his worry and guilt. Duo would be waiting for him at Sandrock soon, but he had no urge to go near the massive mobile suit's alcove. He was devoted to Sandrock, as much as any comrade would love a fellow flesh and blood man who had sacrificed all in battle. The intimidating visage of the weapon now only served the purpose of uprooting long buried memories and phantoms that would not be laid to rest.
The natural music of the woods sung to Quatre's poetic heart. There was no battle here, not even one between man and nature. Life reigned here, and the pensive blonde felt an infidel's guilt at defiling such a place with his tainted presence. How could he feel at peace with his surroundings when he counted the self-proclaimed 'God of Death' as one of his closest friends? Thinking of the American, Gundam pilot 04 wondered if Duo ever shed a tear for the lives he had taken. He suspected not, though that did not demean Duo or his character in the blonde's eyes.
A sharp, unnatural noise pierced Quatre's reflective mood, the breaking of a fallen tree branch alerting him to another presence. The teenager did not start, however, nor turn to see who it was that padded slowly up to him, his feet shuffling on the carpet of moss.
"Yo, Quatre," Deathscythe's pilot strode over to stand behind his solemn friend, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to see what aspect of nature had inspired Quatre's thoughtful look.
"I thought you weren't going to arrive for another few hours," Quatre commented. "If I had known you would be early I would have met you with Sandrock."
The young aristocrat's words were so formal that Duo turned to study him. Quatre's back still faced the mischievous pilot, but the rigidity of his shoulders told tales the Arab's heart would not allow him to. "I finished up a bit early, but I can leave if you want," Duo offered. Of all people, barring Wufei, the American could sympathize the most with the need to be alone with one's thought.
This belief notwithstanding, Duo found his mouth asking compassionately, "Hey, Q, you okay?" before his brain could remind it to give Quatre his deserved personal space.
"Of course." Despite his heritage, Quatre's face was pale enough that the embarrassment of lying, which brought a glaze over his eyes like a rolling mountain fog, also tinted his cheeks with an obvious light pastel. He desperately did not want to involve Duo in his internal dilemma, not wanting to parade his weakness in front of this fellow fighter whose respect he had worked so hard for and cherished so much.
"Of course," Duo mocked, and for the first time the young Arab made eye contact with his fellow pilot. "Quatre, I can't believe that you really think you can pull that on me! I know you too well."
"All right," Quatre admitted, averting his eyes from Duo's intense gaze. It always startled Sandrock's pilot how undivided the 'God of Death's' attention could be, contrary to his normally flighty nature. "I've been thinking."
Duo snorted, tugging at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. He never had been one for confession. Staring off into the expansive tree line he replied, "You do that too much, you know, and even though it upsets you, you still keep at it. Masochistic much?"
Quatre sighed again attempting to find the elusive tranquility he sought in the natural sounds of his surroundings. It did seem unnecessarily self-destructive to continue on his current path, but his naturally pensive nature often got the best of him. His hopes and dreams for the future were shrouded in uncertainty and the Arab would not disillusion himself to the point where he was not aware that he was his own instrument of torture.
"Listen, Q, man, you can't go on like this," the American explained bluntly. "You've got the money, you've got the resources, if you wanted to you could stop fighting the good fight whenever you wanted, grab yourself a couple of hot girls and retire safely at the ripe old age of 15. Obviously something's stopping you." Duo left the insight unspoken, knowing that Quatre's kindness, his greatest friend and foe in all battles, would help his comrade come to a conclusion.
That 'something' remained an ambiguous, unutterable truth in Quatre's heart. Pale words came to mind like 'duty', 'honor', and 'history' and were discarded. While Duo waited patiently for an answer, the blonde attempted to solidify his emotions into words. Facial expressions, tears, laughter, those were all simple ways of allowing the world to know what Quatre felt, but on this subject there was a difference. The ache in his heart had no name, no caption, but had to be identified for both boys' sakes.
"I just-must."
"Fate is nothing more then a convenient excuse for when people screw up," Duo retorted, meaning no insult despite his mocking tone. Years with Father Maxwell had shaped his ethics and world-view despite any exclamations the pilot might have made otherwise. Dire situations with Quatre gave him the confidence that the Arab would take no offense.
"No, not fate," Quatre agreed, "something different, something deeper. I feel compelled to fight even as I realize that I abhor every minute of it."
Duo shook his head, smirking knowingly. "You're trying to make it too difficult for yourself. Trust me, the more complicated you think it is, the more complicated it becomes." Lacing his fingers behind his head, Duo snuck a look in Quatre's direction, making sure he was still listening before continuing. "Take me for example. I fight because I figure, if I don't, that means someone else'll have to. That, and I'm just so damn good at it."
"And we fight for peace," the blonde murmured in a moment of understanding. Looking at Duo's wide-eyed expression beseechingly, Quatre could feel his own eyes clear with the desire to share his revelation. "I believe, I truly do believe Duo, that one day there will be peace and we will be able to throw away our Gundams forever. But I can't just sit and wait for that time to come. I have to fight for it, to prove that I deserve it and am willing to do anything for it, and to protect those that feel they can't fight with me," he concluded, passion driving away the earlier clouds of doubt and indecision.
Duo laughed, bringing his hands back down to his side. "Right, Quatre." He smirked, "Somehow you manage to make it sound so much cooler when you say it then when I try to. Oh well. You've got the gift of making what you say become true, buddy. In that respect I think all us Gundam pilots are the same-we're too stubborn to give up until we get what we want."
Standing, the relieved Arab began to actively scan the landscape for Sandrock. "You say that as if it were a bad thing," he quipped, glad that Duo was there, with him, as were the other pilots when he needed them.
"On the contrary, I think it's one of our most enduring qualities," Duo countered good-naturedly, rolling his eyes for effect.
"Well, people certainly don't hang around you for your jokes." With a yelp, Quatre began to sprint for his Gundam, Duo's affronted 'hey!' and half-hearted threats echoing behind as he gave chase.
Reaching the massive gundanium mobile suit out of breath but happy, Quatre smiled at his friend as he mounted the stirrup to get into his cockpit. "Thanks, Duo," he said sincerely.
"Any time," Duo smiled back. He knew that without Quatre the five young men of Operation: Meteor would have no heart and be nothing better then biological mobile dolls. "But you'd better laugh at my jokes from now on! Consider it your penance."
"Of course, anything for a friend." Settling into his chair, Quatre smiled. "One day, Duo," he whispered to himself and Sandrock, "everyone will be able to laugh at your terrible jokes."
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