Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing or the characters from it

Authoresses Note: I'm sorry it's been a while since I updated. Being a third year college student can be kind of hectic sometimes. I have to do graded work first before fun stuff like this!

Well here's the next part. Enjoy!

Mei and Michael's house again

Quatre stopped talking and continued to fiddle with his cloth napkin. Michael took this opportunity to retrieve a new candle and replace the now nearly burnt down one.

The night was waning on, but no one felt tired. The candles illuminated their faces in a strange mix of light and shadow. The five boys remained on the bench on one side of the table, Quatre in the middle, while Mei and Michael sat facing them on the opposite side.

Quatre took a deep breath and with a shaky voice began speaking again. "The next day, they began their 'tests'…."

Flashback

Blinded once again right before sunrise, Quatre sat up in the inflicted darkness and tried to hear where his captors were coming from. The metal door creaked stubbornly open and heavy footsteps were heard approaching him.

Large, rough, calloused hands suddenly grabbed Quatre's arms and pulled him impatiently to his feet. Quickly gaining his balance, he was then shoved out the door.

Not being able to see, Quatre threw his arms out in front of him and smacked into the opposite wall outside the cell. His elbow was grabbed roughly again and he was abruptly being led down the hall.

"C'mon kid. Now the fun begins," said the same deep voice that had greeted him yesterday.

'I've never felt so utterly helpless before than I felt right now--at the hands of some 'madman' and blind,' Quatre thought to himself angrily. 'I can't let my captors see this though,' Quatre decided.

Thinking of how Trowa could put on such a serious face, Quatre tried to replicate that face—calm, composed.

Stumbling behind, more like being pulled forward by the elbow, Quatre felt them make different twists and turns.

'Left….right…left again….down a flight of spiral steps…' he began to commit the turns they made to memory. It could be a way to escape if the opportunity arose, to have an idea of the layout of the place he was in.

Honing in with all my senses, Quatre discreetly sniffed the air. 'It's all well and good that I know which way I'm going, but where am I in the first place?' he thought as he took in the smells.

'Wetness…decaying leaves…was that last one…sulfur?' although his first urge was to cock his head in confusion, he remembered he was trying to keep a "Trowa Face". Trowa would never wear his emotions like that if he were with the enemy.

Quatre's brain kept going, 'Could we be underground? We must be now after taking that flight of steps downward.' With his hand, the one not being held by the elbow, he reached out and felt the wall. It too was wet. Quatre's fingers traced the large stones that formed the wall. Moss grew in between the cracks—he could feel it.

When he was just about to tune his ears into the surroundings, Quatre was rudely pushed forward. Without having anything to reach out and grasp, he crashed to his hands and knees against the wooden floor.

Whipping his head around, Quatre hoped his angry expression reached whoever had shoved him. Quatre expected there to be a laugh or something. Some form of noise from anywhere.

Yet there was nothing.

Carefully perking his ears, Quatre strained to hear anything. There was absolutely nothing—except for a slight tapping noise. Moving his head he peered around the room with his now useless eyes and tried fruitlessly to get a bearing on his surroundings.

Getting to his feet, Quatre turned in every direction. Figuring he was alone, Quatre put his hands out in front of him, and took a shaky step forward.

"It's so fun to watch them helpless," an amused voice spoke right next to his ear, clearly enjoying Quatre's misfortune.

Jumping to the side, Quatre banged into a large wooden table with his hip. Biting back a cry of pain, he heard the shattering of glass. The sound echoed in the basement room. Something had fallen off the table he had bumped into.

"Tsk tsk. That was an important experiment I was working on," the voice said sarcastically. Quatre could only imagine the evil smile on the nameless face.

With his back to the table, Quatre gripped the side of it, to keep his balance. After being surprised by whoever had spoken, Quatre tried to return my heartbeat to normal.

"Why do you have me here?" Quatre asked forcefully, without a hint of fear in his voice—just annoyance.

"Oh you do speak? I was quite hoping you did. It's more fun when they scream" the owner of the voice said lazily before projecting into Quatre's mind and gripping a nerve.

Gripping the side of his head, Quatre only vaguely realized his knees had now hit the floor. All he could concentrate on was the pain—there seemed to be nothing else.

Once Quatre released from the mental jolt, he remained kneeling on the floor for a moment, panting.

Defiantly, he stood up a few moments later. 'Who the hell is this person?' Quatre wondered angrily to himself.

"Who am I? Oh I am just someone who has been watching you from afar—for years now. You my little blond friend, are becoming too powerful in your telepathic abilities. If I let you develop on your own, you would become more powerful than me and my friends here," two hands suddenly yanked the unsuspecting Quatre to his feet once again.

Lurching forward, he was pushed into a chair—a hard wooden chair.

"Now we can't have that can we?" said the same voice mockingly. Quatre's wrists were tied down in place. Who ever was in the room could've done it telepathically well enough, but that would've made them have to concentrate on one extra thing. One secret that telepaths kept was that concentrating on more than one thing, weakened the power of the telepathic links.

"We just have to break you. Then, my little pet, we won't have to worry about you anymore," the voice stated.

Quatre then felt long coarse hair brush his cheek and realized this man, whoever he was, was closer than Quatre had previously thought.

"Oh don't worry. There won't be any of that," my main captor laughed. The laugh disappeared, "It's going to be worse," his voice added dangerously. At that second, Quatre suddenly felt him inside his mind probing.

Quatre figured it was hours later that he was shoved back into that dank cell again. Using his hands, he felt along the floor until he reached the bed of straw. Also there, he came upon a small piece of bread and stagnant water.

Gulping each down, since he hadn't had anything to eat since the morning before, he then lay down on the 'bed'.

Suddenly his vision returned. Quatre gave an audible sigh—thankful those 'people' were finally away from him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly rubbed his temples. His head ached fiercely and that straw bed was actually beginning to become comfortable—he was that exhausted.

He hauled himself up though. "I can't stay here. No matter how tired I am, I need to find a way out," Quatre spoke aloud to himself in a whisper. With the benefit of his sight, he began feeling along the cracks in the wall. Carefully pressing his fingers into every crack, he tried to pry anything he could lose.

Giving a moan of frustration after he had felt every inch of every rock in his prison, he stood in the middle of his cell. His bare feet were becoming chilled against the cold stone floor and the skylight was indeed letting in the wind as he had foreseen.

Sighing, he walked over to the door. He glared at the solid metal slab before turning his attention to the hinges and doorframe. Feeling with his fingers, he tried to find any loose screws or joints. Anything he could loosen to possibly get of here.

"Argh!" he yelled slamming his fists into the metal door. After at least half hour of searching the door, nothing could be found to aid in his escape. He rested his head against the door and lightly banged his head on it.

Pushing himself off the door, he unsteadily walked back to his corner with straw in it. Being so exhausted, he barely made it there. Once he did, he curled in the fetal position to conserve his body heat.

His mind wouldn't shut off. 'All right, even if I find a way out of here, how can I get past three telepaths? I could easily shut them out if I still had my own telepathy. No, don't start thinking about what you don't have. Think about what you do have.'

As he battled within his mind, he felt his eyes sliding shut. Turning over he took one more wistful glance at the stars. Darkness then fell upon him—yet this time by his own will.

MORE flashback

Quatre never saw the day. He was awoken abruptly at sunrise, thrown a small piece of bread and water to keep him alive, and then returned to that cell at nighttime. It soon became a monotonous, predictable cycle.

Quatre counted how long he was there by the number of nights he saw—12 so far. It was a struggle to not fall into despair. Each night, once his vision returned, he would check the rocks and the door, seeing if time, even the short amount, would cause any weakness in their integrity.

He fought to understand what that nameless monster was doing to him day after day. Sometimes, he would disappear to leave Quatre blinded and strapped in that chair. And then return without warning and dive into Quatre's mind like before.

No one could understand the feeling of their mind being violated. Quatre could almost feel him read every thought, every emotion--no matter how hard Quatre tried to hide them or bury them.

He was mentally naked in front of this strange man.

Although, whatever this did rarely was painful, Quatre still found it extremely uncomfortable. Whenever he would try to squirm out of the grasp though his chin was either grabbed and his head roughly held in place, or he was slammed back in his chair via telepathy.

He hated it more when his chin was grabbed. Those eyes—strange eyes—although he couldn't see them, he could just feel these strange eyes boring holes into his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck would begin to prickle and the feeling of helplessness would be multiplied tenfold. At this, his 'experimenter' would just chuckle and continue his work.

Quatre tried to stop himself from asking questions—he would only find them. Whenever he read one of Quatre's thoughts, Quatre could hear him give a low throaty chuckle.

It never hurt too much while these 'experiments' were happening, but once back in the cell, Quatre would lay on his straw in agony. 'This, on a smaller scale, is just like a paper cut,' he mused to himself, clutching his head as the pain started to subside a little, 'Paper cuts don't hurt when you first get them, but they hurt afterwards.'

One night back in his cell, he struggled to collect his thoughts. Mentally counting the nights, he figured he had been there for at least 14 nights.

Closing his eyes, Quatre brought to his mind an image of Trowa. He smiled when he reminisced to that day he and Trowa were in the living room, lost in those piles of books.

Quatre laughed ruefully to himself at how much Trowa had hated doing research. Research was one of the things Quatre enjoyed most of all.

Quatre suddenly wanted to be beside Trowa like nothing else in the world. Away from this place with the one he loved. There was an empty feeling in his heart and a heavy weight in his chest because of Trowa's absence.

Thinking of the research, he then thought to his weird 'episode' for lack of a better term, in the front yard that one afternoon. How concerned the others were. Could it have been his powers were growing more than they usually did?

Having already checked all of the stones in the wall already, Quatre allowed his mind to wander. He thought of the three powerful telepaths whose power had killed them.

Wondering tiredly to himself, he wished he had been able to find out more about them. After experiencing similar episodes like the one Quatre had on the front lawn, they had disappeared. There was nothing else written on them for a while. Then once they returned from wherever they were, the research hadn't mentioned, they had died. Their power was too great.

Rubbing weary eyes with the palms of his hands, Quatre despairingly thought of how he could escape. He had already tried bolting down the hallway when they came to get him each morning.

That had proved fruitless—being blind, deprived of his own telepathic powers, and being held captive by telepaths, strong ones, it didn't take more than a few seconds before he was caught once again.

He racked his brain trying to think of weaknesses telepaths had.

He should know—he was a telepath himself and had to guard himself against those weaknesses.

Rolling over, he curled up and closed his eyes in concentration. One by one, he ticked off the known weaknesses of telepaths.

Several strategies whirled through his head, but after thinking them through, he realized their futility.

'What might those three other telepaths have done? They were really powerful. Surely they would've been able to get themselves out of this situation,' Quatre thought ruefully.

Just then something suddenly clicked.

Quatre bolted upright off the floor and wide eyed thought of the epiphany he had just had.

The three powerful empaths—they must've gotten too powerful!

Quatre's nameless captor had mentioned Quatre was getting too powerful and he couldn't have that. Was it possible that those three telepaths were getting too powerful and had to be "controlled"?

Perhaps that's what happened to them! Quatre knew it was so rare, closer to impossible, for a telepaths powers to grow out of proportion—naturally.

But what if it was forced to grow? Forced to grow so much that the person couldn't handle it! That would certainly kill them.

That must be what this madman was doing. He was keeping Quatre's telepathic powers latent with his power and forcing them to grow—with his own superior power.

Quatre realized his captor meant to release him—but soon after Quatre would die.

Thinking it through, Quatre realized there was one booming flaw in his theory.

Why wasn't there any evidence of those three telepaths being captured or experimented on? Surely those three telepaths would remember going through this. The endless violations of the mind, the cold, the hunger, the loneliness.

Quatre shifted the straw around for a moment before lying back down. Rubbing his arms trying to give himself some warmth, he tried to reason a solution to his flaw. Repressing memories? Perhaps those telepaths hadn't been taken by Quatre's captor? Maybe they had just gone on some 'telepathic quest' and no information was recorded.

Quatre groaned in frustration. He couldn't think anymore about this right now—his brain was quickly falling asleep on him and he was just about ready to give in.

Then another thought struck him. What if--Was it possible that this madman could erase memories?

Not that all of this didn't sit well with Quatre, but he became increasingly alarmed when he realized this telepath might be able to erase his memory.

Would he erase his memory of just these past weeks? Would he erase all of Quatre's memories? If he finally managed to get back to his friends, in both cases, he would die without any of them knowing why.

That struck Quatre's heart. If Trowa were to die and Quatre had no answers as to why, he would be heartbroken beyond belief. All the rest of his days, he would not be able to find peace knowing there were no answers as to the death of the one he loved with all his soul.

This whole time, he knew he needed to get out this prisoner. For Trowa, for the others. They were a tight band of five—always protecting one another. If one were to disappear, as Quatre had, they must be looking.

Not that he doubted any of their skills, but once Quatre's captors realized the others were searching for him, they could lead them into a trap or lay small deceptions. Keep them traveling in circles for instance. Quatre needed to warn them. Needed to give them the answers he knew they must be searching for.

Quatre immediately got up, forgetting about his fatigue and began checking around the walls. He had his sight for the time being.

Maybe if he escaped now, he thought, he could recover and be fine. Then the others would be okay.

With desperation, he checked every stone within his reach in his small rock prison. Like every other night he had checked, he couldn't find one loose stone.

Close to despair and tears—especially at the thought of never seeing Trowa again—Quatre frantically searched quicker.

The window Quatre had begun to enjoy, he was now beginning to loath. It mocked him from its place on the ceiling. "So close yet so far," it seemed to scream.

In frustration, Quatre squeezed his eyes shut. He balled up his fists by his sides and in a sudden burst of rage slammed them against the wall.

Dust settled on his bare feet—and the stone moved.

If only a centimeter back, the stone moved. With his fingernails and fingertips, Quatre dug at the loose mortar surrounding the brick.

Ignoring the blood he knew he was drawing, he finally wrenched the stone loose. He couldn't believe his luck when he discovered his prison was only one stone layer thick. Dropping the 12 by 5 inch stone by his feet, Quatre quickly scanned with his eyes the structural integrity of the surrounding stones.

Glancing up at the skylight, he realized it was still deep into the night. No where near dawn when his captors always came for him. He still had time—but not much.

He pulled and dug at the other surrounding stones to try and reach the outside. With keen ears, he listened carefully and made sure his captors hadn't read his mind and knew what he was up to. No footsteps fell in the hallway so Quatre continued his escape.

What seemed like hours later and might have well been, he finally took down enough stones for him to squeeze through. He pushed his head through to suddenly find he was about two stories up—a good 30 or 40 feet off the ground.

Thinking carefully, he scanned the ground beneath him. Just grass it seemed. A soft enough landing ground.

Bringing his head back in, Quatre pushed himself through the hole, feet first. Wriggling around in the tight fit, he managed to get his whole body out and soon he was only dangling from the wall by his fingertips.

Hoping desperately this would work, he let himself drop.

He made a sharp landing and rolled over on to his side--lying stunned for a moment. Giving a quick shake of his head, he gave himself a once over. Nothing broken, nothing hurting.

Once that was done, he pulled himself to his feet. Giving himself a moment of pleasure, he wiggled his toes in the dew dropped grass. It was cold, not helping the chill he already felt, yet somehow—it was total ecstasy.

He didn't take much longer to enjoy it. With one last glance at his prison to check for any pursuers, Quatre dashed off into the surrounding woods.

back at Michael and Mei's house

The sunrise was slowly starting to peek through the window while Quatre finished the last part of his story.

"For days, I wandered through that forest before finally happening upon this town. I didn't even know I was being followed until I was right on the outskirts of the town. That was when I began running, but I wasn't fast enough. Without my telepathy and weak from barely any food for the past 2 weeks, I was defenseless. So I played dead until they left. I got up despite my wound and tried to get out of town. Or at least to a healers if I could find one. That's where everything gets blurry. I suppose that's when you found me, Michael. And that, is my story," Quatre finished with a sigh.

Everyone at the table remained speechless.

Wordlessly, Trowa enveloped Quatre in a hug. Not looking up, Quatre smiled lightly. How good that felt to be hugged by him.

Moments later Quatre felt another hug from behind. Then another,

Then another.

Then another.

It took him a moment to realize that all four of his friends were hugging him at the same time.

He sighed happily. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to hold back his tears.

He had missed them so much through his whole ordeal.

He was absolutely nothing without them. In the peace of his friend's embraces, Quatre gently drifted off to sleep.

Mei, wordlessly watching the loyalty of the five, quickly switched into 'mother mode' again when she saw Quatre had fallen asleep.

"Look," she nodded her head toward the now sleeping boy after she got the attention of the four boys. They looked down to see they had a sleeping friend in their arms.

"It's time for all of us to go to sleep now," Michael yawned as he looked out the window.

The pinkish gray sky told him the sun was beginning to rise.

"Well I won't be getting much work done today. Time for you to go to bed also Mei. You've been up way too long," he glanced worriedly over at her.

His worries were quelled with a quick kiss and she stood up from the table.

"The blankets and pillows are over there boys. Make yourselves at home," she smiled at the four that were still awake. Trowa was slowly rousing Quatre to get him into bed.

"Thank you," Heero stated.

She took Michael's hand and followed him into their bedroom. For a moment, she lingered in the doorway and abruptly turned around.

"Will you boys be all right? That was a lot to hear about someone so close to you," she asked with compassionate eyes.

Trowa walked with the only half awake Quatre to the sleeping mat, laid him down and covered him. Looking at Quatre for a moment, he looked up to Mei.

"We'll be all right. We're all together," he answered simply.

Satisfied with that answer, Mei smiled and nodded before going into the bedroom.

The four boys remaining in the living room, fetched the blankets and pillows and made themselves nests on the floors to spend the night—which was quickly turning into morning.

Each remained quiet, even Duo.

They had found Quatre finally—they should be ecstatic.

But the fact that he no longer had his telepathic powers, he had been captured and mentally violated, and could possibly still be hunted weighed heavily on his friends' minds.

Trowa pulled his sleeping blanket up as close as he could to Quatre. Using another blanket, he covered the both of them.

He was horrified at what Quatre had gone through, but that could be dealt with tomorrow.

Quatre, in his sleep, rolled over and snuggled closer. Trowa nearly cried again at the happiness he felt finally feeling Quatre in his arms again.

Grasping him tight, he fell into the first good sleep, he'd had since they had left their hometown over four weeks ago.

Quatre's eyes lightly blinked open and he saw Trowa asleep with a small smile gracing his features.

Quatre felt the warmth of the lantern, still lit, behind him. He had needed it previously. After his captors had kept him in utter darkness for 2 weeks, he needed the light to sleep.

Gently, he untangled himself from Trowa's arms and rolled over. With a slightly trembling hand, he lifted the glass covering and blew out the candle.

Quickly rolling over again, he replaced Trowa's arms around him and laid his head near Trowa's heart. Listening to his heartbeat, finally feeling safe, Quatre fell asleep—not afraid of the dark

For all of you who were getting sick and tired of that flashback—TA DA! The flashbacks are over! Now the story is going to press on!

And yeah, sorry if you wanted to gag because this part was kind of sappy—I'll try to make more things blow up and people do cool stuff!

Until next time! Take care everyone

And if the spirit moves you once again, feel free to review. And thank you to all of you out there that HAVE reviewed. It makes me feel good that people are reading and enjoying my writing. Don't feel bad either if you feel the need to criticize something. Please make it constructive though That way I can fix errors.