Bargains Made

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

by Daemonchan

**WARNINGS** implied violence (whoa, this one is kinda tame), but lots and lots of angst

~*This takes place between Episode 49 and Endless Waltz. I'm pretending that Wufei remained with them for a time.*~

~*~*~*~

Duo took a long drag on the cigarette on his lips, sighing out the smoke as he felt the nicotine work it's magic on his body. Ash drifted from the cinder red end, landing on his tight black pants. He swept them off with gloved hands, absently straightening his black top. It was a completely different outfit from his traditional priest's garb, but then...this wasn't his usual mission.

He stood up, hands going back to braid the wet mass of hair that cascaded down his back. Certainly didn't need that getting in the way at the wrong moment. He smiled to himself. *God, I'm so vain.*

He resumed his seat at the rickety table, sure that if he knocked it wrong it would fall into pieces. A case file was spread across the surface, glossy black and white photos glinting in the poor lamplight. A hand written letter lay on top of the photos, the hurried scrawl familiar to Duo.

*Duo: Here is my end of the bargain. Do what you will. G.*

Duo stared down at the flat black and whites with a simmering glare. They were the faces of killers, men who had murdered innocents for the sake of themselves. Duo had waited a very long time to see their faces, to see exactly what a soulless murderer looked like.

They were the killers of Maxwell Church. The bastards who had killed Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, who burned the church to the ground and left Duo alone for the third time in his young life.

Duo laughed harshly and blew smoke rings into the lamplight. "Trust me, Doc. I will."

~*~*~*~

Quatre yelled into the night, nearly falling from his bed. He sat up quickly, reaching for the bedside lamp. He clutched at his chest, biting back tears at the familiar pain.

*Duo is in trouble.*

He looked up briefly as Rashid came storming in, footfalls lost in the thick carpet. "Master Quatre?"

The Arabian visibly calmed himself. "Call the others...call the other pilots..." He clutched at the sheets, trying to sort through the feelings that assaulted his mind. *Fear. Dread. Danger.*

*Duo is in danger.*

The flashes had become stronger and clearer after his time with the Zero system. There were times when it was almost like he could see into the future, with whole scenes played out before his mind's eye. Usually, it concerned the other Gundam pilots; they were closer to him than brothers.

This time the vision had terrified him, teasing him with glimpses of the longhaired American who had come to brighten all their lives. He had seen Duo leaning over something...a sharp gun shot, then Duo on the run, another shot...and suddenly he was swallowed by the vision of Duo's too pale face lying on his back, blood trickling for one corner of his mouth.

He barely made it to his adjoining bathroom before his stomach was seized by dry heaves. He rested against the cool porcelain after the spell had passed, waiting for Rashid's returning footsteps.

"Quatre-sama?"

Quatre raised his head weakly, trying to give his friend a reassuring smile. "Hai, Rashid. Daijoubu. Did you contact the others?"

Rashid helped his young master back to the huge bed. Quatre felt himself falling back asleep, his mind and body exhausted from the ordeal. He barely heard Rashid's voice as his eyes slid closed.

"I could only reach one, Quatre-sama. Master Chang will be here in the morning."

Quatre nodded, reassured. Somehow it felt right that Wufei should be the one to come...

~*~*~*~

Duo sat on the edge of the building, one long leg draped over the side. He studied the street below him, his jewel-like eyes memorizing everything. It was a beautiful neighborhood, with manicured trees and streets that were swept regularly. Duo had only been privileged enough to steal from such places in his youth.

And this was where his first target would meet his end, his deserved fate.

Duo had watched the man for several days, following his daily routines. He was sickened by what the man had become: a fat gross mass of flesh living off the misfortunes of others. Apparently the destruction of Maxwell's Church had gained him a couple of promotions and eventually a very cushy desk job within the Alliance and then OZ.

His watch beeped, and he jumped down behind the low lip around the roof. Soon the slim nose of a rifle crept over the side, his dark head lowered to the eyepiece. He stared down at the magnified door to the man's apartment, counting the seconds until the baldhead would appear.

Suddenly his scope was filled with the sickly countenance of a man who had not exercised a day in over a decade.

"God have mercy on your soul..."

There was no sound as the bullet was fired into the man's heart. He fell to the steps, clutching at his chest, but he was already dead. Duo was already leaving the rooftop, rifle gripped tightly in his hands.

This is what he had become a pilot for, what he had made the pact with G for. He would kill every OZ bastard unfortunate enough to stumble into the range of his thermal scythe and Pestilence would provide all the information he needed on the Alliance soldiers who had destroyed the first happiness he had ever known.

Revenge would finally be his.

~*~*~*~

It was easy enough to find the address that Quatre had given him, and even easier to break into the rat infested hellhole Maxwell had been hiding since the end of the war. Emptiness greeted him as he strolled through the refuse on the floor, headed for the only other piece of furniture beyond the couch in the place.

Wufei sifted through the papers left on the table. There were fuzzy black and whites of a few different figures as well as personal information on each one. He was at a loss as to what they could possibly mean but he knew they were probably the key to finding where Duo was hiding out.

He turned to study the rest of the apartment, He could smell the stale cigarettes, with the under-odor of cheap beer. Apparently the American had a number of vices he managed to hide during the war.

The apartment was dingy to say the least. The sink spewed brown water and the stove was a fire waiting to happen. There was nothing in the struggling fridge except for a half empty can of beer and leftover pizza. It seemed that Duo had not intended to stay long.

There was a sharp ring from the cell phone in his pocket. "Hai?"

"Are you anywhere near a TV?"

The shocked quietness of Quatre's tone made Wufei wince. Fortunately, the American had a fixation for TV and had included it in his temporary necessities. Wufei found the channel Quatre had given him and watched in horrified silence. If he hadn't had doubts about whether or not the ratty couch could hold his weight, he would have sat on it.

The newscaster was mid-story. "...killed on their doorsteps, in broad daylight. The third victim, James Carwell, an ex-Alliance soldier..."

Wufei needed to hear no more. He recognized the dead men from their pictures sitting on Duo's table. The pieces were falling together. He pulled out the phone and dialed up Quatre.

Without letting the blonde question why, he asked, "Quatre, what do you know about Duo's past?"

~*~*~*~

This was it. Wufei's last chance to stop Duo's misguided crusade. He stared up the building, knowing that he would find his American friend at the top. He took the stairs, coming onto the roof about 10 feet from the Deathscythe pilot.

Duo didn't even look up as he sensed Wufei's presence. The Chinese pilot leaned against a wall, his white garb flowing about him in the wind.

"What are you doing?"

The dry tone in his voice made it sound like he was asking what Duo had just had for dinner. The American refused to be drawn into exchanging words. He knew that Wufei would try to talk him in circles, throwing out reasons why he shouldn't do what he was.

"Fulfilling my part of the bargain."

Duo cursed himself silently. What the hell was he thinking? Talking would take his focus from his mission...from the revenge he had waited so long for, killed so many for...

There was the slap of paper on the concrete roofing. Black and white glossies spilled out. "I know."

*Okay, I'll bite...* Duo turned from his rifle, favoring his friend with an amused smile. "And? Are you here to stop me?" He turned back, his eye trained on the doorway where the man who had given the order to destroy his home would soon come out, heading for work. "Save your speech, Fei. I've been planning this for years now."

Wufei shrugged. "No. I cannot do that." His dark gaze met Duo's. "I came only to tell you that I understand."

The quiet tone caught Duo by surprise. He turned to stare at his companion, shocked by the empathy he saw in the ebony eyes. "What?"

Wufei simply nodded. "I understand."

Duo lowered the rifle, the Chinese boy's gentle words draining him of the all consuming anger that had fueled his mission from the minute he had made his deal with G to pilot the Deathscythe in return for the identities of the men who had killed the innocents of Maxwell Church.

He collapsed against the wall, rifle falling across his knees. Wufei moved forward and sank down next to the distraught American.

His voice was quiet. "When I was thirteen, I was married to a girl named Meiran. She...was ashamed of being a woman and strove to overcome her weakness. I though her foolish and would often tell her so.

"She began to think of herself as Nataku, the spirit of Justice. It was because of this belief that she led the Shenlong against an Alliance attack."

Wufei lowered his head to his chest, his voice thick with barely contained tears. "It is why she died. I cursed her even as she lay dying in my arms. I would have given anything then to be able to destroy the men who had destroyed her."

He grabbed Duo's chin, forcing the American to look into his intense ebony eyes. "But it would not take back all the hurtful things I ever said to her. It would not bring her back."

He stepped away from the stunned boy, sure that he had done all he could. If Duo was still going to kill the man he felt had destroyed his life, then he would. But Wufei also held onto the hope that his words had somehow reached him...

With a strangled cry of grief, Duo charged at Wufei, swinging the rifle like a staff. Wufei caught the swing easily, but he could sense that Duo didn't really have his heart in the fight anymore.

The Chinese boy was taken by surprise as Duo collapsed into his arms, his body wracked by sobs.

"I can still hear her voice! She died...she died in my arms..."

Wufei lowered the boy to the rooftop, absently stroking the chestnut hair as he would a child. Words poured from Duo's lips, a story that hadn't been heard in almost ten years.

"His name was Father Maxwell..."

~Owari~