If I Should Die... Interlude 2: The Empty Heart

Summary: Years before the start of IISD, Duo and Quatre are stuck on the transporter Vega.

Note: This is a prequel of sorts, explaining allusions to the transporter Vega incident that no one talks about. Thanks to Bronze Tigress for working it over with a fine-tooth comb. As usual, all remaining errors are mine.


The war should've been over years ago. Duo knows that by now. It should've never begun, but begin it did and continue it has. Duo eyes the Oz troops loitering around the docking bay from his place in the rafters and gently touches his radio. "Q, there's like nine gazillion people here. We're totally fucked. It's gonna be hairy, getting out of here before they reach L-1, and we're probably looking at a week at this rate."

Quatre's voice over the comm comes from far away. He sounds as tired as Duo feels, which is odd because Duo's pretty sure Quatre's been napping in the storage closet they commandeered instead of foraging for food. "How many is 'nine gazillion'?"

"Two-hundred and twelve," Duo translates. "But they're big fuckers, and there's a guy with a mustache who has a fancy hat. I bet his ship vroom-vrooms faster, too. Probably compensating for something." He takes a moment to re-examine the main floor. "Q, I think he has a monocle. Who the fuck wears a monocle?"

Quatre sighs. "You might as well come back so we can figure out what to do."

"Roger that," Duo says, and makes his nimble way back across the beam. One Oz soldier is apparently so bored he's kicking a wall, and Duo would pity him if he had a meal in his belly and if Oz weren't trying to kill him. It's an easy trip back through the duct system and vents to the storage room he and Q have holed up in, and Duo slides through the vent in the ceiling to land next to Q. Q still has his laptop open, tracing the building plans.

"Find any food?" Duo asks as his stomach rumbles loudly.

Quatre shakes his head, but does not take his eyes from the computer screen. "Nothing but that last MRE."

Fuck, Duo thinks, and rips the package open. "We'll share."

When they snuck onto the Vega, back on the far outer reaches of the L-5 cluster, the mission had been a simple in-and-out gig: grab the engine coil, lift some sensitive intel, and get out. They started out on light rations two weeks back when it became obvious that the intel they needed was stored somewhere not on the mainframe and sneaking out was going to be infinitely more complicated than sneaking in, and extra-light three days ago when they realized there was no way to restock their quickly-dwindling supply while maintaining their invisibility; Duo tightened his belt and tried to force himself to eat more slowly, but years on the streets have taught him to bolt food before someone else takes it, and hearty meals have not yet eased him out of his overprotectiveness. Quatre, raised with fame, fortune, silver spoons, and cornucopias of plenty, has struggled more to go without these past weeks. Duo has seen him considering the kitchens more than once, but for an OZ ship they keep their food amazingly well guarded. Duo wonders if the Vega has had trouble with soldiers stealing rations in the past, because this level of protectiveness over their food borders on neurotic. Alone, Duo might chance it, but even before the recent publicity about Winner Corp, Q and his aristocratic accent stick out like a sore thumb. It occurs to Duo that the hanger is less protected than the kitchens, and how fucked up is that?

He and Quatre sit next to each other, eating their half-a-bean-burrito silently. Quatre has been different on this mission, Duo notices, and forces himself to chew his beans more slowly. Duo notices sometimes that Q's eyes have taken on a flatness-something intense but smooth. He's seen it more lately, as their food supplies dwindles and more medical personnel enter the transport. Duo just hopes they can find some way into the kitchens for a meal and make their way off the Vega soon.

"We have to get out of here," Quatre finally says.

"Betcha we can steal Mr. Monocle's penis ship." Duo licks the last bits of beans off his fingers, then watches with utter disbelief as Quatre uses his handkerchief to clean food bits off his finger tips. Duo eyes the discarded napkin and seriously considers licking it.

Quatre doesn't respond to Duo's staring, which weirds him out just a little more. "We need to stop the ship," he argues. "I've been going over the computer records, and we're headed for the battle zone just outside the L-1 cluster."

"This group doesn't strike me as top-notch enemy combatants," Duo says, remembering the kid kicking the wall earlier. "I think they're just civilians in uniforms."

"The log shows an unusual number of medical professionals on this transport," Quatre says. "Plus, if we take out the Vega, Oz loses their main transport ship."

"The longer we wait, the harder it will be to get off this tub," Duo points out. "And unless you have some sort of magic plan where twenty-five scantily-clad virgins serve us five-course meals on fancy gold leaf china, I'm voting for getting off now and getting a burger."

"Duo, we're at war," Q says, and wow is his tone condescending. "We need to focus on what's important. We need to take this ship out."

Duo shakes his head. "Q, we'll need at least 4 days to gather the materials and place the charges in order to disable this baby from the inside. I've been all over this ship, and I can tell you four days is a best guess. I mean, not unless you just want to blow life support, but you'll kill all the oxygen, and with a ship this size you'll never get half the people off it."

"Hm," Quatre says, and for the next eighteen hours and twenty-seven minutes, Duo thinks that's agreement, which is how he finds himself surprised to be in the hallway near the main hangar bay staring at the life support system. The missile launcher Quatre handed him thirty minutes ago, back in their storage-closet-hideaway, is still slung across his back, extra ammo weighing down the cargo pocket by his knee.

Duo gives Quatre his best "you've gotta be shitting me" look and says, "So now what?"

After more than two weeks of light rations and no showers, Q looks grungy. His hair falls in greasy strings, there is a smudge of engine grease on his cheek, and his khakis are wrinkled. "The fewer OZ soldiers there are, the less manpower OZ will have and the shorter the war will be. So what we need to do is blow up the Vega before people start unloading."

"But these aren't soldiers," Duo says, worry and hunger gnawing at his belly as he stupidly stares at Quatre. "These are doctors."

"Doctors and reinforcements, all of whom are focused on killing us." Quatre stares at Duo intently, and Duo is reminded uncomfortably of Heero. "It's our job to take them out first."

"It's our job to get the hell out of here," Duo says. "Come back after we've had a pizza and like a week of sleep. We're not going to blow up a ship and kill a bunch of med techs just because someone handed them an OZ uniform and put them on an OZ ship."

"We kill people in battle all the time," Quatre says, and Duo is starting to feel uneasy. "This is just more efficient." Q makes the whole insane idea sound so reasonable, so logical.

Duo takes a step back, feels the metal bulkhead behind him as the world slows. "Look, we can't get the intel we're here to get. It's time to call an abort, plan a distraction, and steal the penismobile so we can get the hell out of Dodge."

Quatre's pistol pokes Duo in the ribs, and Duo thinks, well, shit. Apparently they're done negotiating.

"Is that your gun," Duo jokes, uncomfortable, "or are you just happy to see me?"

Quatre cocks his gun, jabs it harder into Duo's ribs. "You will stop arguing. You will blow the ship up now."

"Dude," Duo says, and raises his hands in a placating way, "Q. They're sleeping. We don't kill sleeping civilians, even when they play OZ dress-up and wear shiny OZ boots. We steal their fancy ships and eat whatever delicious things they've stored on them while we run away."

"And then what?" Quatre asks, voice hissing, and Duo is realizing Q is entirely serious. "We wait until they're armed and kill them? We wait for them to come back and blow up some more innocent colonies? Then I can feel the souls of more dying children, feel more innocents falling to their graves because OZ thinks it's a good idea?"

"Quatre," Duo says, and feels lightheaded. "They're medics. They ain't killers."

"They're still soldiers," Quatre says. "They signed up for this. They signed up to kill us, and to crush the colonies, and what we have right now is an opportunity to be proactive." He lets a quick breath out, sucks air in through his teeth. "Maybe you're happy fighting this war forever, Duo, but I have plans for my life."

"Hey," Duo protests. "I want this over as much as you do. I just happen to think that killing a bunch of medics isn't the way to go. I think maybe you just need a sandwich, and then we can talk things through."

"Weak," Quatre spits, and there's a muffled bang and Duo realizes, holy shit, Q just shot him.

"What the fuck?" Duo asks, hand to his thigh, holding the wound protectively, and, "What the FUCK?" Blood on his hands, his own blood, and of all the pilots he never expected Quatre would be the first one to actually shoot him. The wound is fleshy and Duo thinks probably Q missed his femoral artery but Duo isn't a doctor so who knows, maybe he's got minutes left to live.

OZ is already gathering and moving, moving toward the noise, guns drawn, and Duo is in some sort of shock where he has a fucking hole in his thigh because Quatre shot him.

"Do you think they'll hesitate to kill us?" Quatre asks, ruthless, and with a flash Duo recognizes the familiar cold in Q's eyes: the ZERO system strips away your inhibitions, makes you willing to do what it takes.

"You fucking shot me," Duo says, and the blood is coming out fast, he can't hold it in with his hands. He leans heavily against the wall, weight all on his right leg. I'm bleeding on the wall, he thinks.

"You will do this," Quatre says. "You'll do it now or I swear someone else will be piloting Deathscythe tomorrow."

"Fuck," Duo says, because time is up and OZ is here. The cold steel wall is to his back, the air is thick, his belly is empty, and the heavy munitions around his neck have never felt heavier. He looks at the environmental systems above them, the systems Duo knows so much better than Quatre-Duo steadies the gun, takes aim, and the rocket launches, destroying the oxygen tanks and air recyclers.

The explosion is deafening. The medics panic immediately, running, screaming, and Duo feels nauseated as Quatre pulls him through the smoke down toward Monocle's ship. Later, there is very little Duo will remember of the mad dash into the hanger: oppressive heat with a growing inner cold, huge contrasts between blinding firelight and darkness, echoing screams and the clatter of boots racing along metal decks. Duo trips on an iron grate, feels the roughness and smells the salt of blood. The fire and the oxygen causes a chain reaction, another secondary explosion, and Quatre shoots the soldier in the ship and pilots them away.

"You've used the ZERO system, too," Quatre tells him later as Duo bandages his gunshot wound. Duo feels lightheaded, but there's half a candy bar waiting for him as soon as he finishes here. He focuses on the candy bar. The candy bar has peanuts. "You think this isn't inside you? You think you're innocent?"

Duo laughs bitterly. "Maybe I wasn't innocent, but I've never blown up a hospital before."

Quatre does something to the controls and the engines grow even louder. "The Vega wasn't a hospital. We didn't kill any patients."

"I don't understand," Duo says, voice thick. "With your empathy, how - ?"

"That's part of what the ZERO system was designed to do." Quatre glances back. "I can turn it off now. It's a big relief, to be honest. I'm no longer ruled by my emotions. You may want to use it a bit more. Chang could use some time, too, actually."

"That's sick." Duo ties the bandage off. "And stay away from Chang. She doesn't need your twisted new life philosophy."

"Chang is overflowing with unnecessary emotions," Quatre says, simply and so-fucking-logically. "She's completely exhausting. She can hardly eat breakfast without having some sort of passionate feeling about it. Imagine how the ZERO System could harness that energy." He checks his finger nails and picks at the dirt under them. "We are given these tools and expected to put them to good use. If you don't think you can, well... don't fancy yourself irreplaceable. I have it on good authority that they already have someone waiting in the wings."

Duo puts the gauze down carefully, pulls out his gun, and sights it on his friend. "Stay away from her," he says calmly, like he's the one on the fucking ZERO System now. He clicks off the safety and cocks it when Q looks like he'll talk again. "Or I swear to God I will blow your fucking brains out."

Quatre, long-suffering, rolls his eyes. "Oh Duo, quit the melodrama." As if Duo is complaining about the weather. Still, he turns away and drops the subject.

Duo lowers the gun slowly, flicks the safety on, and sticks it back in the waistband of his pants. He feels sick to his stomach, hollow and brittle, and wonders what they are becoming.


Two days later with a belly full of rations and two more sleepless nights under his belt, he surveys himself in the mirror and tries to see a reminder of the kid Sister Helen and Father Maxwell took in. His cross burns the middle of his chest. Would Father recognize me today, he wonders. It occurs to him that the child they knew, the one who loved Solo and who became Duo, was far more moral, far more human than the person he is today. This is what the ZERO system does, he thinks distantly. It takes you down, distills you back to your Zero, to your barest core value. This is the measure of the man, he thinks.

He raises the razor to his hairline and turns it on.