Disclaimer: You certainly know the score.
Notes: I'm replacing the chapters because I've cleaned them up a little. Nothing has changed over all. I'm back again, because I was checking out Gundam Wing again, and whammo – the stories came back. Check out the "doing" series, it's far more entertaining. Reviews also make me happy.
:Lyrics:David Bowie – As the World Falls Down
::There's such a sad love::
::Deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel::
::Open and closed within your eyes::
::I'll place the sky within your eyes::
Fade To Black
By Doctor Megalomania
Part One: Strangers Till Now
:: There's such a fooled heart::
: :Beating so fast in search of new dreams::
"I heard you were ill."
"You heard wrong."
Gone was the kindly sparkle.
"I would be concerned for you; I would hate for our negotiations to suddenly collapse."
"These are not negotiations; this is a hostile take over bid."
Forgotten was the ever-lasting patience.
"I was under the impression the state of affairs had not reached that level yet."
There was a neat shuffle of papers, clipped and indifferent just like the expression on the company president's face. His cold blue eyes flicked up briefly for the first time, "And I was under the impression that you were ahead of your time, now I find your management team seem to be grossly misinformed about the state of affairs." The ocean blue eyes flicked back to a pink slip of paper as he read rapidly. "This is not a negotiation, this is a hostile take over . . . you're floundering in an area of market we want, your retirement has been a long time coming, it's a pity for you the war is over." There was a sharp sigh as the president's glance slipped over his spectacles again, "I am not going to waste time, trying to explain something you should already know—"
"Mister—"
"No." This interruption warranted his full attention and his short bangs flared up angrily as he glared at the small video picture, "I will have my people contact you when we are ready to deal with you again. Get up to date now, I don't know when I will have time to continue this meeting again, but I will not suffer poor communication again. Good day, Mister Harveys."
The video image blipped out before the man had a chance to utter a squawk of protest. The company president frowned with distaste at the screen, wondering why he was even bothering with the niceties anymore. Why should he be the one to suffer fools like Harveys when his lawyers could deal with it? It wasn't the way his father had ever done business. His father, despite being known for being a very kind man, was a ruthless businessman. His lawyers were hired for their speed, their ability to work out the deals before the smaller companies had a chance to figure out the front page of the bid report.
His father had been a ruthless businessman.
Now, at the age of twenty-six, Quatre Rebarba Winner was quite prepared to follow in his father's footsteps.
He frowned at the screen for a moment longer, before spinning his chair and staring out of the large office window. The view was incredible as it gazed out on the centre of L4's busiest city hub. Quatre shook his head. Tonight he had nothing but reception balls to go to, Rashid and three other Magnuracs were ready to accompany L4's most influential and powerful businessman. For the past nine years he'd been voted businessman of the year, and from the latest bids, ideas and contractual requests coming in, Master Winner was inclined to think tonight would be the tenth year he'd hold the glass plate, make some insincere speech and ward off the beautiful, eligible women who wanted to become Mrs Quatre Rebarba Winner.
Allah, he was so sick of it all.
His reflection in the glass showed his face pulling into a deep, curling frown. It made him look spiteful, mean . . . it reflected his heart perfectly.
Quatre sighed and let his head fall back. Staring at the ceiling, a whispered sigh left his lips.
" . . . Gundam . . ."
It took a few moments for him to realise what he'd said. He blinked, and for the first time in what felt like years, Quatre felt some of the coldness slid from his heart. Gundam. He didn't long for the years he spent as a Gundam pilot. Living the war again would be too painful . . . what he longed for . . . was the comfort he drew from being a Gundam pilot.
He sat up straight again and glanced at his reflection again.
Being a Gundam pilot, despite what people thought now, was not as lonely as was made out. It wasn't as painful as the scientists claim, saying all the former pilots had to go through rigorous mental training, probably sacrificing all humanity to pilot the mighty machines. No, being a Gundam pilot meant that he was never alone. It meant he was part of a group of five strong individuals who made their stand against OZ, against Mariemaia, against the universe if needs be. Quatre stood and rushed to the window, detachedly amazed as he watched a tear roll down his reflection's cheek. He pressed his hands against the glass as he watched the tear. It paused in the middle of the reflection's cheek, unable to continue. It stayed that way for a very long moment, until another tear pressed out and merged with the first. The new tear continued to speed down the reflection's cheek. It traced the ghostly jaw until it pooled and fell off, a victim of the colony's artificial gravity.
Quatre stifled back a sob.
Something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
Gundam.
Something was wrong with the Gundam pilots.
He half snorted with dark amusement, his reaction time used to be better than this. His Space Heart was only now reacting to the explosive incident that tore their little group apart and scattered them into the five winds? Was this why he'd grown cold and mean, spiteful and remorseless? His Space Heart had fallen asleep after the war, and now it decided to wake up? Now when he had no one to turn to? He spun and slammed his thumb on the intercom.
"Marie?"
The secretary's voice came instantly; the woman was brisk and icy. Just as he preferred it, it put off unwanted surprise visitors. "Yes, Mister Winner?"
"Cancel all my appointments today."
There was a pause before she spoke again, "Mister Winner . . . I . . ." She paused again; Quatre sensed she was speaking to someone else. "I've already done that, Mister Winner. Mister Rashid is here to see you on a matter of some urgency."
"Send him in."
Quatre wiped away the tears from his face and looked up as his office doors opened, and Rashid strode in. The years had been kind to the older man, his hair peppered with sprinkled greys and whites. He had the odd worry line, put there no doubt by Quatre's wilder days as a pilot, but still Rashid was as sturdy as ever. A great bear of a man.
Rashid stopped as Quatre sank into his chair, pulling his spectacles away from his eyes.
"So . . . you've heard . . ."
Quatre looked up slowly, a deep pain disturbing his Space Heart. "Heard what?"
Rashid's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinised everything about the younger man, "Master Quatre . . . you've been crying . . ."
Quatre closed his eyes as he swallowed dryly. His mouth was dry; his face was growing warm from being caught in such a position of weakness. "I . . . haven't been feeling well for the past couple of days, you know that . . ." He turned slightly in his chair, trying to avoid Rashid's intense stare. "My heart . . ." A hand shuffled up and pressed against his chest, he was faintly aware of the movement. "My Heart has been telling me something's wrong . . . I suppose I've only just noticed . . ."
"So . . ." Rashid breathed out, he sounded sorry for Quatre, "You haven't heard . . ."
Quatre 's hand pressed harder against his chest, the pain increasing slightly. "Rashid . . ." his gaze slipped off the L4 business scene and back onto the reflection of his personal bodyguard and his closest friend. "I'm too old to play games. Please, the point."
Rashid sighed, his shoulders squaring. He stared at Quatre, unaware of Quatre's silent observation of his reflection. Quatre had done too much growing up in the past few years; it almost broke Rashid's heart to see the growing coldness on Quatre's once innocent face. The boy, who'd once taken so much pleasure from staring at earth's desert, now stared at the world with a weariness that should be reserved only for the near dead. He swallowed and backed away, heading toward the door.
He nodded to the tall, serious looking man.
Quatre sighed impatiently as he stood, "Rashid . . ." He began warningly as the stranger stepped in with a brisk, precise movement that instantly told the world he was a lawyer and a damn good one at that. The lawyer straightened his tie; he was an old man, fatherly looking at first but with sharp green eyes behind thin glasses. "Mister Q. R. Winner, I presume."
The introduction was clip and terse, the man held out his hand, shaking Quatre's with an alacrity that even offset Quatre. The younger man blinked feeling sixteen again as the man began to open his briefcase. He pulled out a manila folder and a CD case. Sighing sharply, he snapped off the rubber band on the folder and began to read.
"Good afternoon, Mister Winner. I am Mister Unterward, personal lawyer of the president of Second Chance Inc." He flicked his green eyes upward, "The recovery of useful scrap business from L2, I'm sure you've heard of it."
Quatre had, L2 was one place where his own scrap dealings couldn't seem to get a hold. Irritating to hell, Second Chance always seemed to get one step a head of his own company and was extremely popular with the locals, any and all attempts to cut into the market were frown upon by the colony's government. He nodded.
"Good." Mister Unterward made a small mark and then flicked the page. "I regret to inform you that I am here on behalf of my aforementioned client, President Max W. Basilica." The lawyer sighed, "He had hoped that we would never meet under such circumstances however it seems fate had differing opinions." He raised his head, "Mister Winner, it is my client's keenest wish that you use any and all of your connections and resources to contact Mister H. Yuy, Mister T. Barton and Mister W. Chang. You do not have a deadline to adhere to but sooner, rather than later would be advisable or fate will once again take it upon herself to force my client's hand. Mister Basilica regrets that this has come to pass and hopes that you can understand why he has requested you to help him."
Furious, Quatre started to shake his head, "I don't understand . . ."
"You are to try to find Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton—"
Quatre's face pulled into an ugly frown as soon as his former best friend's name was mentioned. He shot to his feet and glared at Mister Unterward. "No, what I don't understand is why a man I have never met wants me to find three people I never want to meet again."
Rashid's brow pulled tight, his lips pressing into a look of disapproval as Mister Unterward closed his file. The green-eyed man sighed, "It would seem that unlike his usual perfect character judgement, my client has made an error with you, sir." Unterward stared at Quatre for a long moment, "I would normally close the matter and go to inform my client of your decision to be uncooperative. However, I cannot do that." The old man's green eyes narrowed challengingly, "I will continue to carry out my client's last will and testament until I am physically incapable to do so. I am not unlike my fellow residents of the L2 colony, Mister Winner, and as Mister Basilica has stood by us since the end of the war, we shall all do the same for him until we cannot continue to do so."
Quatre tried to hold the man's piercing green eyed gaze, but found himself unable to withstand the quiet passion in the man's deep voice. Mister Unterward straightened his tie.
"As I was saying, Mister Winner, I have one final thing to give you. Whether or not you choose to fulfil my client's wish." He picked up the clear CD case and placed it on the desk in front of Quatre with a quiet plastic click. "This is a message from my client, he instructed me to give it to you. I will not play it for you. I will, however, leave the room so you may have a chance to watch or discard it." He glanced at Rashid who nodded, then levelled his gaze at Quatre once more, "I shall be outside enjoying the company of your secretary and a cup of coffee when you come to your decision, Mister Winner. The message is not long, your answer will be you will or you will not." He dropped the file back into his brief case, closed it with a quick snap and stared at Quatre once more.
Quatre picked up the CD, saw that it was addressed to him by his Gundam's serial number. His mouth fell open, nobody knew his serial number. Nobody but the Gundam scientists and the other pilots. He glanced at the lawyer, who nodded once more briskly and turned on a heel to the door.
Rashid followed him, glancing back once at Quatre with a meaningful look. "Watch it . . ." he said quietly, with the same sorrow filled expression haunting his eyes, "Please, Master Quatre . . ."
Quatre sank back into his seat and stared at the CD case.
QRW-GSRK-04-LRGPT4
PLAY ME PLEASE, QUATRE.
QRW-GSRK-04-LRGPT4
For the longest moment, he didn't want to play it. Playing it meant that he would know what terrible thing had awoken his Space heart. However, the old Quatre . . . the one who cried every night for a month after Trowa and the others left, the one who caressed the back of the dustiest photo album every Christmas alone, afraid to open the old war newspaper clippings and photos lest the good memories of the others sprung up and reminded him of what he left behind . . . this Quatre became bold and slid the disk into his computer.
The CD began automatically.
A recording of the President of Second Chance Inc smiled widely from behind his desk, his hands clasped before him. He hadn't changed much from the last time Quatre had seen him, he looked a little more mature perhaps, his fringe longer. His eyes sparkled though; with the usual double strength happiness he'd always seemed to carry during the war.
"Hello Mister Winner, I am Max W. Basilica." The man chuckled quietly; it pained Quatre to hear it. He'd almost forgotten how nice it was, how warm it was to hear. "Mister Basilica to my employees, Max Basilica to my management team, Max Wellington Basilica to my doctor . . ." One bright violet eye winked quickly and another warm chuckle wounded Quatre's heart again, "And plain ol' Duo Maxwell to his best friends. . ."
Duo's recorded smile faded a little as he turned serious.
"Buddy, I know it's been a long time in coming, and I sure as hell hope that . . . well, I sure as hell hope that you don't get this one day out of the blue . . ." Duo shrugged a little, glanced down at his desk for a moment before staring at the camera again. "Pal, if you are watching this . . . then, Shinigami finally caught up with me . . . If Mister Unterward hands this to you, then this means I am either dead or unable to make any rational medical decisions on my lonesome." The recording glanced off to the side, a window was just out of picture and the sunset cast a slight orange glow over Duo's features. He sighed and glanced back at the camera. "Sounds bad, but I hope it's that I'm dead, I don't think I could bear to let you see me dribbling insane, having lost the last of my marbles." He smiled slightly, a fond glint appearing in his eyes. "Quatre, you know something . . . I miss you . . ."
The blonde former pilot swallowed as the fond glint slowly faded into regret. Duo's recording nodded slowly.
"I miss you a lot, not just you, the others too . . . that's why I'm asking you . . . please help Mister Unterward to find the others . . . if only so you can at least sling a handful of mud at my coffin and spit on my grave." The smile returned again, the recording roguishly winked again, "Come on Quatre, you know you wanna at least dance on my grave . . ."
An hour later, Mister Unterward stood as President Winner's office door opened.
Marie glanced at her employer, try as she might she couldn't hide the fact that she'd heard him as well as the others did. She winced at the coarse, hard sobs that had started as soon as the recording on the CD had fallen silent. The door creaked slightly as Quatre's small form stepped out. She hadn't seen him look so meek since the unspeakable incident nine years ago. Mister Unterward glanced at Rashid and murmured quietly that his confidence in his client's judge of character had been restored. Quatre glanced up, to his chest he clutched the CD case. His eyes were red and his face was ashen.
He stared at Mister Unterward with tearful ocean blue eyes. "How . . .?" he whispered, "how . . . why. . . who did this to him?"
Mister Unterward motioned the seat, but Quatre quickly shook his head. The lawyer sighed and licked his lips quickly, "Mister Basilica - despite his attempts to hide his true identity - is still visually recognisable as Pilot Zero Two of the Gundam Five. Regrettably, there are a few undesirables on L2 who seem to think the war hasn't ended. It is believed that Mister Basilica had the misfortune to run into one of these petty warmongers." He glanced at Rashid. "Mister Basilica did not see fit to provide himself with a bodyguard."
"How. . .? Please . . ." Quatre swallowed hard, feeling his head grow light, "I need to know. . . how. . .?"
"One bullet to the cranium."
That seemed to sucker punch Quatre, hard in the gut. The boy's eyes bulged, "Duo is too fast to let anyone get that near!" A tear, two, finally a stream pushed past, "No! I don't believe you! Duo is the fastest one of us all! He could dodge everything! A single bullet couldn't just kill him!"
Mister Unterward's lips drew into a thin line before he continued. "Mister Basilica is not dead, Mister Winner. He is in a coma. You are right, he did just manage to dodge the bullet but he wasn't fast enough to prevent it from entering his head and rattling around his brain. Mister Basilica is in a deep level coma, Mister Winner. He is in no position to decide his own fate, nor make rational medical decisions by himself."
Quatre blinked rapidly, his face growing paler. "His will . . .?"
"His last Will and testament states that you and the three others are the sole benefactors of his fortune of which in the event of his death he has left separate guidelines. In the meantime, you four must act as next of kin for him and decide the medical establishment's next move."
"What . . ." Quatre whispered, not willing to believe that Duo was lying, half dead somewhere. "What do you mean?"
"His will stipulates that only you four have power of family over him. Only you four in agreement with each other can answer the doctor's query."
"What?"
Mister Unterward cast his eyes down for a moment, his genuine concern for his client surfacing. "The L2 Coma Unit Specialists suggest that Mister Basilica will never recover from his coma, they can keep him alive, but they sincerely doubt that he will ever regain consciousness. Their recommendation to you is to allow them to turn off the life support that keeps him with us."
Quatre's mouth fell open. Rashid was instantly by his side, gently guiding the younger boy to sit down. Quatre was growing beyond pale now, his lips turning a pale pink. He slowly shook his head, his mouth working, trying to push a silent 'no' past his throat. Mister Unterward loomed over him, "I'd hoped that you would be willing to consent to my client's request."
The younger former pilot stared at him, "if I say no . . ."
"Then I will go to the next, Wufei Chang, to Trowa Barton and finally to Heero Yuy. If all of you fail to come to an agreement regarding the treatment of Mister Basilica then I fear L2 will lose one of its most beloved citizens and I shall loose a dear, dear client of whom I have grown unaccountably fond of." He tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as Quatre dropped his head from his gaze again. Sighing sharply, Mister Unterward shook his head and turned once more on his heel. "Good day, Mister Winner."
He'd taken all of four steps before the former Gundam pilot leapt to his feet and called after him.
"Wait! Please! Wait!" Quatre ran after the lawyer and stepped in front of him, his ocean blue eyes were wide with fear and shock. "Please . . . I didn't mean to give the impression . . ." The boy swallowed, "I will. Mister Unterward, you have my word that I will devote any and all my resources, everything I have into finding the others." Quatre swallowed hard and stared at him deeply, "Can. . . can I see him?"
Mister Unterward's eyes took on a relenting gaze as he reached into the manila folder again and pulled out a photo. He sighed, "Unfortunately no, Mister Basilica cannot receive any visitors until after the surgery to recover the fragments of bullets has been completes. I am under the impression that it may take some time." He handed Quatre the large A4 sized photo and spoke softly, "But this is the picture we have released to the media of L2."
The former pilot stared at the photograph for a long time, trying to see anything of the bouncy Gundam pilot, or the slightly more mature business man from the recording. He found neither. He couldn't concentrate on anything except stare with growing, creeping horror. His voice caught the first time in his throat. The second came with rasp of fresh tears beginning, Quatre raised trembling pale fingers and touched the picture.
"They . . . they cut his hair . . ."
"They had no choice in the matter, Mister Winner." Mister Unterward remarked not unkindly, he closed the folder and slipped it into his briefcase. "If you will excuse me, I have some other arrangements to see to."
Quatre nodded absently. Mister Unterward handed Rashid his business card, murmuring quietly that he could be reached at that particular number whenever Mister Winner felt up to pursuing the matter further. Marie watched as President Winner numbly bid Mister Unterward goodbye, his worried ocean blue eyes fixed on the photo. "Marie . . ." Quatre said as he passed her desk on the way to his office, "Cancel all my appointments for . . . delegate the more important ones, but cancel them all . . ."
The secretary nodded, quietly speaking, "Already done, sir . . ."
Quatre Winner paid her no heed as he walked back to his office. He glanced at Rashid once and collapsed against the bear of a man, crying earnestly now for his friend.
"Rashid . . ." was all he seemed to get out, in hoarse horrified whispers, "Rashid, they cut his hair!"
::Though we're strangers till now::
::We're choosing the path between the stars::
::I'll leave my love between the stars::
