Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. It really means a lot. ^_^ Although you wanted shorter chapters, updated more frequently, this is a bonus long one because I couldn't find a good place to cut it in half. This part has been beta-ed- any mistakes are all due to my little habit of revising after getting the edited chapter back.
July 18th 195
22:30
Crashes outside the supposedly safe safe-house are never a good thing. Not at ten-thirty at night, not when we were in the middle of nowhere, not the night before a big mission- not ever.
Even though Heero and I had been in the middle of rather a heated argument over the proper use of a camping stove at the time, we both stopped in mid-tirade, him raising a hand while I cocked my head to the side, both of us straining to hear through the thin wooden walls. Quatre ghosted into the room, carefully avoiding all the known creaky floorboards. I pointed a finger over his shoulder to the front of the house, indicating where I though the noise had come from. Quatre nodded in agreement. The three of us exchanged a quick look, and with a couple of fluid, sharp hand gestures, Heero indicated for Quatre and I to go outside via the back door and investigate, while he went up to the roof to act as a scout. My gun was in pieces on the table- I'd been in the middle of cleaning it before the argument. I snagged it as I passed and snapped the barrel back into place, figuring that at the very least, it still looked threatening. I stooped to pull my knife out of my boot as Quatre grabbed the flashlights, tossing one underhand to Heero, passing the other to me as I straightened. Quatre took point as we sidled out the back door, as he did still have a gun that was currently capable of doing more than bashing someone over the head.
Even though he did have the firepower, I still made sure I took the left side of the house; the best and most likely way for anyone to approach the building. I knew Quatre was capable of handling himself in an all-out fight, but I stood the better chance of sneaking up on the intruder unnoticed. Quatre apparently agreed, as he didn't protest in the slightest as I signaled for him to go right as we cleared the porch.
The yard was so wild and overgrown that the trees formed an impenetrable canopy over the house, allowing no moonlight to filter through the dense leaves. No light came from the house either- that would've required it to have electricity. Tree roots lined the ground, and in places they'd even penetrated through the concrete foundation of the house, frequently threatening to trip me on to my face. I advanced slowly along the west side, carefully nestling each foot among the roots and dead leaves, pausing every couple of steps to listen carefully for any signs of life out in the woods, in case we'd been surrounded.
Nothing.
Until a pebble bounced off the top of my head. I jumped, nearly stumbling down into a deep window well, and glanced up to see Heero, a hand cupped over the end of a lit flashlight so I could see the rosy glow, but just barely. I fervently wished I'd thought to volunteer to go on the roof so I could throw rocks at him. I cupped my own hand over my flashlight before I flicked it on and off sharply in response. He didn't signal again. He hadn't seen anything yet.
I had just stepped over the drainpipe, rounding the first corner when I heard the racket again. It still sounded a fair distance away, so I kept up my silent approach, glancing up every now and then in Heero's direction.
That was until I heard Quatre yell. I took off in a sprint, stumbling over tree roots and rounded the next corner, where I saw his flashlight laying the the ground. I couldn't see him- in fairness, I couldn't see anything except what was three feet directly in front of the beam of his light. A cascade of dirt showered me from above as Heero scrambled to make it across the decayed roof.
"Quatre?" I called quietly.
"Here."
The beam moved in my direction. He'd been laying on his stomach in the dirt, peering under a wiggling bush.
"Did you see something?" I knelt down beside him, turning my own flashlight on.
Oh shit.
A pair of amber eyes glared back, and suddenly lunged towards me. I yelped, and Quatre and I tripped over each other as we both frantically scrambled to get out its way. Something passed by my leg, and there was a third crash as it ricocheted into something metal behind us.
Quatre managed to sort himself out first, and swung his flashlight back towards the house, even as he hauled me back to my feet.
"Holy shit, what the hell is that?" I gaped as I finally got a unobstructed view, taking a step forward toward the garbage cans which had obviously been the source, if not the cause, of all the noise.
"Duo, be careful," Quatre warned, laying a hand on my arm as he tried to pulled me back.
"Yeah, but..." I trailed off as the creature turned its gaze back on me, rearing up on its hind legs to shake a furry little fist at me, letting off a stream of irritated chirping.
"I've never seen anything like it before."
"Me either," I breathed, jumping backwards as it waddled towards us. The chattering didn't cease for an instant. "Good grief, it's disgusting! Look how it moves- it's so fat! Do you think we could eat it?"
"Duo, that's disgusting!" Quatre exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.
"Why?"
I truly was curious. This was coming from a guy who I'd shared a pigeon with, on one particularly brutal mission.
"It's been eating garbage! It smells like roadkill. Rotten roadkill."
"Oh, Quat... skin it, roast it, and add a little salt, it'll be fine. Beats a ration bar any day, look how juicy it looks!"
"Don't be so sure of that," Quatre muttered, foolishly taking his eyes of the creature for a split second to mimic retching on the grass beside my foot.
The beast saw an opportunity, wisely not stopping its tirade at us to alert us to that fact, and pounced. I saw the minute tensing of its haunches, and stuck out an arm just in time as it launched to bat it away from clawing off Quatre's face. The devious rodent quickly changed tactics as it whacked into my arm and latched onto me instead. I yelped, windmilling my arm, trying frantically to dislodge the thing while Quatre bravely dove in and grabbed it by the muzzle and tail. Together, we managed to pry it, and a good chunk of my sleeve, off and throw it to the ground. The creature rolled head over tail for several feet and landed in an undignified heap, seemingly dazed. I suddenly remembered my gun and took aim before it got its bearings and could attack again, but the anticlimactic click when I pulled the trigger reminded me that I'd left the house without any bullets loaded.
A thud in the dirt behind us made Quatre whirl around in alarm, while I kept my gaze trained on the monster in front of me.
"Leave it alone," Heero sighed, rising up. His eyes followed the beam of my flashlight, which somehow amidst all the flying rodents and twitchy nerves, I'd managed to keep a firm grip on.
"But what the hell is it?" I stared at the creature as it picked up a old, fermenting jar in its creepy long-fingered paws that was laying under the bush beside it. After glaring at us threateningly, it proceeded to wedge a good portion of its head inside.
Good god, was a tongue that long possible?
"A raccoon. No- don't touch it, Duo, its got mange."
"What?" I paused in mid-step.
The raccoon plunked itself down on its fat butt and scooted across the dirt as it tried using all four feet to extricate its head from the jar.
"Mites. Probably parasites... maybe rabies too."
"Wonderful," I sighed, tugging on the hole in my sleeve. I suddenly felt like I had manner of things crawling all over me.
As we trooped back into the house, I glanced back over my shoulder in case the deranged creature decided to charge us again.
I swear the blasted raccoon flipped me off.
You know, I didn't need to be psychic to know that this mission was, hopeless, fucked, and otherwise completely doomed from the start.
Strike number one- cooping Heero and I up in a safe house together.
For three days.
With loaded weapons.
Our working relationship (or lack thereof) hadn't exactly started off on the right foot; and it was totally his fault. It was obvious he was still feeling a little bitter about me shooting him. All I had to say was, get over it. I mean really, what was I supposed to think when I saw him holding an innocent girl at gunpoint, and the whole thing happened nearly two months ago. Not to mention I could've easily aimed somewhere slightly more vital than a bicep and a kneecap when I'd pulled the trigger, it's not like I was a lousy shot or anything. Honestly, the guy shoulda been grateful I hadn't aimed for his balls or something- had he been an OZ soldier, I would have. No need for those guys to procreate.
Totally his fault. I spared his nuts, I saved his Gundam from OZ (okay, okay, I'd been planning on using it for myself but he didn't know that) and then I went as far as saving his sorry ass from that damn military hospital.
How does he repay me?
He takes parts from MY Gundam. There was no damn way he could've confused me for the enemy at that point, not after I'd done nothing but help the guy. So I wasn't going to get over that. Nobody gets off easily from sabotaging my Deathsythe. I don't care if you're the Pope reincarnated... or was that the Llama guy?
Who cared anyway. Needless to say, things had spiraled down from that day until now, when it felt like we were caged in a house with a live bomb. I don't know how any one of us had made it through the last four days alive, or why Quatre hadn't just taken a gun and put us both out of our misery, because that's how bad it was. We had been trained to withstand torture, but I had naturally (and stupidly) assumed that being tortured would only come from the enemy side.
How naïve of me.
Strike the second. Cooping us up in a safe house that had been built in the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere and had obviously not been occupied since the dawn of time. Apparently that was the bonus, since it meant it was unlikely that anyone was going to walk in on us unexpectedly. Raccoons excluded, of course.
Seriously, a motel room with the 'do not disturb' sign visible on the doorknob would be just as effective, and even a damn pup tents had more luxuries- they at least kept out the rain.
No, instead we got this place. Calling it a house would be generous, but as it had four walls and a roof, I guess it met the basic criteria. Squirrels had eaten through the power lines eons ago, to the point that there was no way to repair them ourselves should we have felt inclined to leech electricity off the closest neighbors, a quarter-mile away. No power lines equaled no electricity, no running water, no heat, and no happy Duo. No food that wasn't dry or preserved—naturally that meant living off of military issued rations which had the consistency and texture of wood chips, only with less flavor.
After nearly four days, can you see why the raccoon was looking tasty?
No showering. God... no showering. I'm no diva, that can't function unless I have my daily bubble bath and aromatherapy treatments, but when you had hair as long as mine, there was a certain amount of maintenance necessary to keep it from breaking every brush that went near it. There was a creek half a mile's hike away that could be used for bathing as long as you didn't mind choking on your nuts when they migrated north, but that did nothing to get out the pine sap that somehow always managed to glue the end of my braid to my butt. The entire house was covered in dust bunnies, the smallest the size of a very large Doberman, and the combination of tree sap and dust made me look rather like I'd been tarred and feathered, or had an infectious disease or something. At least cleaning the house for prints when we left would be a breeze; it was easy to see where you'd been when you were near-wading through the crap like it was quicksand.
I still say torching the place would do the whole town a favor, but that brought us right back around to the 'keeping a low profile' problem.
Strike three. The sheer absurdity of the mission. We were supposed to spend three days scouting a military storage base before infiltrating.
Right.
Anyone who knows anything about breaking in to places -moi- knows you spend a minimum of two weeks scouting and gathering information, because anything shorter is just ludicrous or suicidal, depending on what you're trying to break into. It wasn't exactly a cheapo, run-of-the-mill, home security system we were dealing with, or the local cops showing up if we got caught. We were facing big morons with even bigger guns, who were trying to take over the world. Naturally, when the opposition was armed, I wasn't going to take unnecessary risks.
Except in this case, apparently unnecessary risks was apart of the mission briefing.
We were screwed.
22:45
"The look on your face, Duo!" Quatre chortled, holding open the screen door for Heero and I to go in ahead of him. "When it flew at your face? Priceless!"
"Laugh all you want," I warned him with a grin, "but just remember who shrieked like a girl when that squirrel jumped you the mountains."
"Well how was I to know that they could fly?" he grumbled good-naturedly. "Hang-gliding rodents weren't exactly covered in basic training."
"Neither were ninja raccoons."
Quatre snorted, and nearly shot hot tea out of his nose.
Heero knocked into my shoulder as he passed by me in the cramped kitchen, lugging our packs out of the former sitting room to put by the door. The force made me stumble, and step on one of the dangling pack straps.
"Hey, hey, hey, watch it!" I cried angrily, as my socked foot went sliding across the linoleum. As the strap went taut, Heero was pulled backwards and caught himself on the table.
"For god's sake, Heero, was it too many words to ask me to move?" I yelled, lunging to snag my coffee cup before it overturned on the guts of my gun still scattered about the table and the propane lamp before it set my own bullets firing off at me.
Heero dropped the bags, beating me to the lamp with his disgustingly fast reflexes and steadying it—probably only because gunshots and setting fire to the safe house was likely not the best way to go about keeping a low profile- and not because of any regard for my well-being.
All I managed to do was deflect my coffee from spilling all over the table, to onto the floor, where it splashed up Heero's leg.
I groaned internally, preparing myself for the verbal beating that was surely coming my way about my clumsiness, blatant disrespect, or whatever today's pet peeve was, and grabbed a rag to begin scrubbing at the floor. I fleetingly wondered if I should pat dry his sock too, but then decided he wouldn't see that as being helpful, and being that close to his steel-toed army boot at that particular moment wasn't the most brilliant of ideas.
22:47
The coffee was cleaned up, and Heero still hadn't said a thing. He hadn't even moved for crying out loud! I suppose it was too much to hope for that my coffee'd turned him into a statue, like he was the Wicked Warlock of the West or something. I chanced a glance at his face and finally lost my temper when I saw his expression.
"Your face is going to stay like that if you're not careful," I snapped, before pausing thoughtfully, "'Course you probably won't notice a difference, your ugly mug already-"
"Insult my looks, my intelligence, whatever, but all you're trying to do is cover up the fact that you should have cleaned your gun earlier instead of leaving it until last minute like you always do," he replied icily.
"You could have opened your damn mouth for once and asked me to move!" I yelled.
"You should have just moved!"
Neither of us were stupid. This didn't have a thing to do with who tripped who, the coffee, or my damn gun. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Quatre edging out of the kitchen door- he'd been caught in the middle in enough of these little spats in the last three days to know better than to try and mediate. I felt bad for him because Heero was being a prick and I wasn't in the mood to let him get away with it which led to me being a double complete prick. All of us were feeling the strain, but the guy was such an ass. I was a dick too, but at least I admitted it, and I had the excuse of not having any sleep since we arrived at the safe house. Sleep deprivation alone is considered an effective method of torture.
If I had known then what I knew now, I would have let him rot in that stupid military hospital. Perhaps a slight exaggeration- Gundam Pilots seem to be in rare supply these days- but if he only knew what I went through to break him out of that damn place—a great deal of planning considering I had to worry about getting stuck in HIS blasted coma, maybe he'd be a little nicer towards me.
Right Duo, and monkies would do the fricking macarena first, he had already shown me how grateful he was when he stole all the parts off Deathscythe to repair his stupid Gundam.
I racked my brain desperately for some sarcastic retort, but I was just too tired. I was tired of arguing, tired of constantly being on my guard for His-Royal-Holiness...tired of being so freakin' tired. I wasn't about to tell him the truth- oh, I'm so sorry Heero, but it's actually Quatre's fault that I couldn't clean my gun earlier because he just decided to fall asleep in the living room and therefore I spent the better part of the afternoon passed out on the floor inhaling dust bunnies with my head wedged under the radiator while Quatre dreamed about practicing violin scales. Yeah, I know, aren't you glad now that we don't have electricity in this cramped, rat-infested, sorry-excuse for a safe house, 'cause I'm freaking thrilled every time I wake up from someone else's dream without permanent injuries.
I couldn't say any of that. Because besides sounding completely impossible, some stupid little part of me still wanted to earn his respect and friendship, and keep Quatre's. There were four other Gundam pilots, only four others in earth and space who were like me.
So instead, I just sat there gaping like a retarded guppy.
Brilliant.
22:48
Heero got up from the table angrily, though not before an impromptu glaring contest, and snatched his jacket and one of the flashlights from beside the door. He stopped just short at slamming the door- we were in a supposedly vacant house- and went in the backyard, presumably to do a perimeter sweep (that was hilarious in itself, because if he was really worried about someone breaching the perimeter, we'd be doing a guard rotation) before we bunked down for the night. As soon as the door clicked shut, Quatre came back in the room and re-lit the camping stove to make his cup of tea, and now, another cup of coffee for me. I was the only one who could drink coffee at this time of night and not had it affect my sleep- I mean really, it's not like sleep is a willing decision for me when I'm staying with two other people. Even when I'm on my own though, caffeine doesn't bother me. I pop caffeine pills on an hourly basis when I'm on missions. Sometimes that edge is enough to buy me some time to escape if I happen to come across a sleeping person- it's amazing how many people sleep on guard duty.
I quickly finished cleaning my gun, only half paying attention to what I was doing while the other half of my brain was torn between hurling every curse I knew at Heero and genuinely feeling bad for losing my temper at him. It wasn't as if he knew the real reason for my short temper, and if that was the case, I probably didn't know the reason for his either.
Quatre sat down beside me, putting a hand gently on my arm.
"This is my fault isn't it? Because I fell asleep this afternoon."
It was merely a statement; he was looking for clarification as to how my problem worked. Half the time I didn't know. Of all the other Gundam pilots, Quatre was the only one who knew about my little tendency to unwillingly wander into other people's dreams. This was partly because I hadn't actually met the other two pilots and partly because two days ago he'd stopped me from doing a not-so-elegant swan-dive down the staircase when I didn't realize Heero was napping in the next room with the door open.
"Quatre, how the fuck is it your fault that I get sucked into people's dreams?" I snorted, examining the chamber of my gun for any last speck of grime before slotting the first bullet back in."That's like saying it's my fault that you have that whole empathy deal going on, or whatever you wanna call it. It's no one's fault, just one of those screwball things that life likes to torture us with."
"Well, I could have slept somewhere else for a start," he sighed, eying me suspiciously before carefully easing the gun out of my hands and setting it on the table out of my reach.
"Quatre, I wasn't done."
He gave me a look. "It was clean about ten minutes ago, Duo. If you clean it anymore you'll wear a hole right through the barrel, so just leave it be, you're making me nervous."
"Afraid I'm going to lose it on Heero when he comes back?" I chuckled wryly. "Look, where else were you gonna sleep- in the backyard with that fat old skunk that's living under the wood pile? Hey... the raccoon looked like it'd make a nice plump pillow!"
"Don't be an idiot," he scoffed, swilling his tea about in the cup. "I could have gone upstairs, that's what I was saying. I could have warned you."
"It's not like you did it to spite me, Quat! You were tired, so you took a damn nap. I don't see the big deal there. You shouldn't have to warn me. We're all lacking in the sleep department, and it's not like Heero and I are making life any less stressful for you."
He shifted uneasily, though had the grace not to make any further comment on that particular situation. Apparently his hoity-toity upbringing worked to my benefit sometimes, though his general demeanor still made me feel like I needed to stick my pinkie out every time I had a can of soda. "Duo, I know you're exhausted. You're popping how many of those pills everyday just to function? It's danger-"
"And you've never had to, Quatre, come on," I retorted, a bit too sarcastically.
"Relax, Duo, I'm not saying I haven't ever had to take them, I just...think you are taking too many."
"I don't need you fussing all over me and spouting off the gory facts, Quat! I'm not stupid, I'm well aware of all those pleasant side effects; the headaches and twitchyness and the constant need to piss like I'm seven months knocked-up or something."
"Are you conveniently forgetting the psychosis, heart irregularities and death?"
Damn guy sounded like he'd swallowed a medical textbook.
"What if I am, Quat?" I demanded. "We didn't exactly sign up to be Gundam Pilots to guarantee our safety and good health during the war, so why should I be afraid of death?"
"I'm not telling you to be afraid of death, but...you could quit poking it with a stick."
I couldn't help it, I snorted at the imagery he provided me.
"Quatre, look," I began, trying my darnedest to keep my tone and expression within normal conversation limits, "I just have to make it through tonight and tomorrow, and then I can disappear for a couple days and take it easy. I'll catch up on my sleep like I always do. It'll all work out, so quit worrying."
Quatre still looked skeptical, doing his own version of the guppy several times while he went through what was most likely several persuasive arguments as to why things just might not 'work out'. He sighed and let yet another topic fall to hang in the already uneasy air. "I wish you'd just tell Heero. We could make some kind of arrangements, at the very least so you could get some real sleep tonight."
Arrangements. Right. I could imagine what those arrangements would be, and I'm sure his first order would be to boot my ass off the mission. Heaven forbid that Heero actually admit that I was needed on this mission for it to be successful.
"Quatre, if Heero finds out, at the best he won't work with me, and at the worst, I won't be a Gundam pilot anymore." I ran my hand through my hair, brushing the tendrils too short to be worked into my braid out of my face. It stubbornly fell right back into place. Probably weighted down from three days worth of oil, grime and dust Dobermans. Maybe I should consider using some of that tree sap as hair-gel or something, and start selling it as a natural alternative to the real stuff.
"He can't stop you from piloting, don't be ridiculous," Quatre retorted, looking mighty ridiculous himself as he did have his pinkie sticking out from his teacup. That must have been some serious brainwashing he went under as a child if he could balance on a stool in the middle of a shack and still make like he was at a tea party with the queen.
"Fine, that may be, but he can refuse to work with me. We need the three of us to do this job tomorrow and I-" The words stuck in my throat; had it been anyone other than Quatre, I would have stopped right there and saved myself from the embarrassing heart-to-heart. But he had this way of of looking at me, with such genuine sincerity oozing out of those bright blue eyes of his, that I always ended up revealing things to him that I wouldn't to anyone else. "I can't handle not being a Gundam pilot, Quat... this is all I have. I've worked so hard. I know you're worried, but-"
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, Duo, first let's get one thing clear. I'm worried about you, not the mission, but I'll drop it. For now," he tacked on thoughtfully.
"Oh, joy."
There was that look again. The frustrated one, that somehow managed to suggest he wanted nothing more than to wind my braid a few times around my head and stuff the tail-end into my mouth.
"I still think you're going to have to tell him eventually, especially if we keep getting put together on jobs like this. That's all I'm trying to say."
"Over my dead body," I muttered dryly, quiet enough so he didn't hear. It made me feel better anyway.
Heero wouldn't understand. That was all there was to the matter. And Quatre would realize that too, if Heero ever did find out.
23:10
We all slept in the same room. I'm not sure whose brilliant idea that was, but like everything. it probably looked better on paper. All of us in one room meant fewer traces to clean when we left and fewer supplies to bring. It'd been hard enough to... 'acquire' one heater, and the fuel to supply it. Having three would be an unnecessary luxury. Heero's words, not mine. Luxuries, by definition, are unnecessary. I don't see what that has to do with anything. Why not have whatever luxury we can scrounge up; I mean, honestly, I'm a soldier, not a machoist.
Maybe Heero's a sadist? That'd certainly explain a lot.
I had been planning on snagging a few hours of sleep during the day, though god knows I've worked a lot longer on a lot less, but for one reason or another, I hadn't had any sleep of my own for close to four days. Quatre was right about one thing. I was exhausted. Gleaning sleep from other people's heads wasn't nearly as gratifying as sleep of my own.
Quatre was usually asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. I had just enough time to crawl into my sleeping bag beside him before my vision dimmed and I got that brief, nausea-inducing sensation of the floor inverting and falling away from me.
At least I'd gotten out of that god-awful habit off holding on for dear life as it happened—people tend to look at you funny when you pass out on the sidewalk and latching on for dear life like it's going to buck you off it at any moment doesn't help matters.
As dreams go, Quatre's were normal enough, though perhaps what was unique to him was I didn't only feel his perspective. Maybe that had something to do with his gift- his empathy- that he was so used to feeling the emotions of everyone around him, that his mind recreated them in his dreams also. It was certainly odd for me- overwhelming even. My initial respect for Quatre had come from my experience in his dreams. I couldn't imagine dealing with all that excess emotional baggage all the time; my own feelings were hard enough to interpret.
For the first little while, the images were insubstantial. His brain was slowing down- technically, alpha waves transitioning to beta, then theta waves. It was the brief window of time where I could still pull out of the dream, still move if I had to. If I could quickly put a physical wall between me and the dreamer, I was safe. But there was no point tonight, unless I wanted to sleep in the bathroom, and the bats technically held the current property rights to that room.
Quatre's mind flashed through of moments from the day, random thoughts and feelings that he'd experienced, and from myself and Heero. Worries of the mission tomorrow, and... something else. Something lurking far enough in the background that I couldn't get a better sense of. The scene shifted to the fight in the kitchen, and then everything started to pick up speed, like we were on a carousel, until it whirled around me chaotically; rage and bitterness, those I recognized as my own feelings, confusion, and guilt- faster and faster until I couldn't distinguish one emotion from another, couldn't tell who was feeling what, couldn't tell where I stopped and the others began. I was standing stationary while the world spun around me like a tornado... Quatre was back in the kitchen and yelling at me, urgently pointing towards something that I couldn't see, but I couldn't hear him over all the other noise, the argument replaying over and over, getting louder, meaner. My hair was whipped around me, until even it felt like it had turned against me, I struggled to breathe as it tightened into a noose around my neck. I choked, my hands scratched frantically at my neck trying to pull it away; all the while some rational part of my mind wondered if I could die in someone else's head.
And suddenly, things fell away again. I felt something else tugging me, someone, that I had ignored every night until this point. Latching on to that, I was able to pull away from Quatre's dream, until the wind faded and I was just watching in a small window like it was on TV, observing, but not be a part of it.
Heero had fallen asleep.
I'd never ventured into his dreams before. I was afraid of what I'd find, afraid of having to spend hour after hour in the rage that was undoubtedly there. I'd chosen to be safe in Quatre's head. I'd never had the luxury of a choice before this mission. But Quatre's dream was too out of control, if I stayed in it any longer it wouldn't be good for either of us. I was afraid I was about to die.
I couldn't hold on much longer, the two minds were pulling at me until I felt like I was being ripped to shreds. Finally, I leapt, my only thought to find safety.
Ironically, I was looking into the unknown for it. In Heero's head.
05:45
I woke up the moment Heero did. He had already left the room before the paralysis wore off, even before I'd had a chance to open my eyes. He wasn't one to take his time laying around waking up. I jumped at the luxury. I lay there in the warmth of my sleeping bag, feeling odd, but content. Something had been different about last night. Something-
05:46
Oh my god.
Heero doesn't dream.
A/N: Okay, just a piece of general knowledge here, but apparently raccoons don't necessarily display symptoms of rabies like other animals infected. That fact is courtesy of Wikipedia during my research. Just thought you'd all be dying to know that. ^_^ Also, the reason why Quatre has an untraceable identity (in case anyone was wondering) will be explained in a later chapter.