Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its affiliated trademarks.

Author's note: Heero and Duo were experimented on and now they have to try to move on. 1+2. 3+4. Language. Sap. TWT. Pain, but if you got through the first three chapters, you'll be able to handle this. Constructive criticism is welcome. Edited 05/09/07.

Chapter Four, The Will to Rise

Heero struggled his way down the hallway towards the kitchen, grimacing at every slight touch to his overly sensitive shoulders. His wings were carefully folded behind him, and he painfully kept them slightly elevated to prevent them from brushing against the floor as he walked. He braced a hand against the wall for support, not quite trusting his own body yet to do what he asked.

Three pairs of eyes looked up in surprise as a topless Heero staggered into the kitchen area, heading straight for the rusted, steel bar stool to seat himself. With a deep, shuddering breath he settled onto the stool and put his elbows on the cool counter, his hands in his hair. He slowly let his muscles relax and his wings droop gently to the floor as his shoulders sagged, his body going slack. He combed his fingers through his hair as he closed his eyes, getting his breathing under control.

His nightmares had subsided, and he had woken up peacefully in the morning, only to find himself naked as the day he was born in Duo's bed and suspiciously alone. Their arms, legs, and wings were casually entangled, looking like two lovers embracing, and Duo's head was on his shoulder, his chestnut braid tickling his skin. Heero stiffened in surprise, too shocked to move a muscle. Then he remembered when he had struggled over here, facing pain that threatened to make him black out, just to check on Duo. Why? He had wanted so badly to comfort him and found that he had used up too much of his strength to make it back to his own bed. Too exhausted to make the journey back, he decided to simply crawl into the closest bed with Duo. He could explain when he woke up, but that thought was quickly forgotten as he fell quickly to the most peaceful sleep he could remember.

He recalled the emotions that had seemed to overtake him, the previous night, bubbling out from a spring that he hadn't known was there. He had always believed in following his emotions, and he held true to that, even if he didn't think he had any to act on. But, still, he didn't understand these ones. What was it that made him so concerned for this fellow soldier, no, young man in his arms? What was it that he felt when he gazed at him, sleeping so contently? Duo always insisted that they were friends, so was this the feeling that Duo called friendship? He didn't think that entailed such close contact, so maybe Duo's definition was flawed.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it of confusion, and decided to extricate himself from the situation. He gently moved Duo's limbs off of him, watching the other boy's face carefully for traces of pain and stopping when he saw his features scrunch up in discomfort. After several minutes he disentangled their bodies, and he made the arduous effort of sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It hurt like hell, but not nearly as badly as before. Heero distantly wondered how long they'd been asleep like that, but the thought was quickly banished when his stomach contracted angrily, voicing its demand for food. He thought it might wake up Duo with its intensity.

He slowly stood and padded over the cold linoleum floor, making for the broken metal dresser on the opposite side of the room. He opened the top drawer of the old, squeaky dresser, wheels groaning as its unused joints scraped against each other, and was rewarded with the sight of his very few possessions. His usual black Spandex shorts and green tank top, ideal for missions where clothing might become an obstruction, were folded very neatly alongside a pair of jeans, a white button-up shirt, and two pairs of heavy-duty socks. They had probably stashed his weapons in a more secretive place. He contemplated for a moment before deciding that the zipper on the jeans would provide optimal ease later on and pulled out some socks as well, then slowly closed the drawer again, trying to prevent it from squeaking and waking Duo. He didn't want to confront him with his thoughts so jumbled and clouded at the moment.

Heero found that putting on clothes was a very painful task and hissed as he balanced on one leg to bend over to put on his sock, then repeated the process with his other foot. At least his legs were in better condition than the rest of him. The jeans required just as much bending over and even more pulling, putting a strain on his abused shoulder and upper back muscles. While buttoning up the jeans, he briefly considered attempting to put on his tank top, but quickly dispelled that idea. It would be somewhat difficult to put it on over his wings, and he wasn't willing to endure any unnecessary pain just yet. So he quietly opened the door, taking a last, thoughtful look at his sleeping comrade, and with difficulty held his wings tight to his back as he went through the doorway.

"Are you hungry?"

"Huh?" Heero looked up from his reverie, finding a smiling Quatre standing across the bar from him and holding a plate of food.

"I said, are you hungry, Heero?" the blond pilot repeated.

Heero's mouth watered as he looked at the plate filled with pancakes, sausages, eggs, and hash browns. His usual fare consisted of nutritious supplement bars and vitamin water, but his stomach didn't care whether it was the most nutritious food or not. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last, so he nodded his hunger, and Quatre promptly set the plate in front of him, then retrieved a fork, knife and napkin for him. As soon as he had hold of the fork, he disregarded the knife and napkin, focused only on his food.

The others watched in baffled amusement as Heero dug in and ate like he'd been starved for a week, which they supposed he had. As Trowa watched the brunette shovel in food like there was no tomorrow, a small smile graced his lips. He reclined further into his rickety chair at the kitchen table, relaxing now that he knew Heero was getting much better. He knew this from experience, when Heero had self-destructed in Siberia and Trowa had picked him up, thinking him dead. Much to his surprise, the stubborn pilot had survived, and when he started healing in earnest he ate voraciously, eating just about everything in sight, including Cathy's onion broth that was so thin it could have been water. Trowa smiled at the memories of better times on Earth, then continued reading his book, occasionally sipping coffee from his chipped mug.

Satisfied, Quatre smirked and went back to the stove, pouring batter and flipping more pancakes for the rest of them. On another skillet were the shreds of potato that were being fried into hash browns, and another covered pan held the sausages that were cooking in their own juices. The delicious smells and tantalizing sounds set all their stomachs to growling in anticipation. "Where did you get all this wonderful food, Trowa?"

He looked up from his reading. "OZ supply convoy," he said with a hint of satisfaction. "Don't worry, it was nowhere close to here, so they can't trace us back to this colony. And there was enough food to give to the colonists, as well." They shared a smile with each other, then Quatre turned back to the cooking.

Wufei, sitting at the table across from Trowa, was still staring at the normally reserved comrade who had suddenly transformed from a trained soldier to a machine with one goal - to shove as much food in his mouth as possible before choking. He gave a small laugh of incredulity as Heero's whole body seemed to come alive from the intake of solid food. "Well, if Yuy's feeling well enough to eat a horse, Maxwell shouldn't be much worse. I bet he'll eat us out of house and home by tomorrow."

Wufei had meant for that comment to help lighten the mood, but no one failed to notice how Heero's hand slowed and his eyes narrowed and unfocused for a second. "Hn," he muttered noncommittally. The three pilots exchanged glances.

Trowa took a sip of coffee and set his mug back down before trying to ask nonchalantly, "So Heero, how is Duo? Still sleeping?"

Heero replied with a brusque, "Yeah." It was normal for him to be substantially less than chatty when he wasn't discussing a mission, but there was something different with his demeanor as he said it. His shoulders hunched defensively, making it clear he wasn't open to discussing the topic of Duo.

"With you two healing so quickly, we should be able to make it to the Earth soon," Trowa added. This time Heero stopped eating entirely, and he could see in the Wing pilot's eyes his mind turning to thoughts of war and missions, and probably their last failed mission.

Pretending not to notice the change in mood, Quatre poured a glass of milk for Heero before setting a plate full of breakfast in front of the other two. He grabbed napkins and silverware for all of them, then prepared one more plate. He set this one on a makeshift tray and announced, "I'm going to go see if Duo's feeling up to some solid food. Be right back." Then he padded down the hallway, leaving the three in silence.

All that could be heard was silverware clanking against the plates and food being cut, chewed and swallowed. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts, but the silence between them was not an easy one. They all knew it was because they needed to discuss what had happened and what to do next, but no one wanted to start that particular conversation. The three of them held to an unspoken agreement to wait until Quatre returned.

When they had all cleaned off the plates and drained their glasses, Trowa stood to take their plates to the sink and rinse them off. Heero and Wufei both muttered their thanks before returning to their private thoughts. Another five minutes later, Quatre returned empty handed. Duo must have been awake and hungry. The other pilots were all seated and brooding, the silence no longer uncomfortable, rather, but indifferent. Heero felt his head drooping as he realized he was still painfully exhausted. He frowned and shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the traces of sedatives and stay awake.

Quatre pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and seated himself close to Trowa. He silently observed them all for a minute and realized none of them was going to be the first to speak. Deciding offense was the best course of action, he cleared his throat loudly. "Heero," he began hesitantly. The Japanese pilot looked up from where he had been staring blankly at the countertop. "Do you have any idea who, or why, or . . .?" He waved his hands ineffectually, trying to grasp the question he wanted to ask. "What do you remember that might help us?"

Immediately images of pain and blood flooded Heero's mind. There was so much of it. He heard deafening screams and realized they were being torn from his own throat, as well as Duo's. The world was tinted red with searing agony, laced with white-hot pain at the edges. Heero's body quivered involuntarily as his hands desperately choked each other. He was brought back to reality when he felt a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Quatre standing beside him, offering him an encouraging smile. Heero quickly chased away the memories and chided himself. He'd been tortured before. He just needed to block those particular images and focus on the fine details, ignoring the larger picture. With a deep, calming breath he steadied his nerves and tried again. Resolutely he blocked the images that threatened to break his defenses and overwhelm him, calling on his training to protect him from the side effects of torture for a while. Heero's lips tightened as he thought about it, trying to sift out anything meaningful from the nightmares in his mind. He realized with a start that he had purposely avoided reflecting on what had happened. Maybe it was his brain's way of telling him that it was too traumatizing to think about at this time. Hn. He ignored his mental barriers and looked at those memories anyway.

A man covered head to toe in scrubs, chains, needles, silvery serum. Duo, hanging helpless and naked across from him, goose bumps running along his flesh as the cold air chilled the sweat of fear on him. No, no, he had to focus. He concentrated on the image of the short, probably old doctor. He remembered that a scrambling device had distorted his voice, which meant they didn't want to chance him being recognized. There was something naggingly familiar about that man, but he couldn't place it. The scientist must have been very high ranking and well trusted to be given such detailed information about a Gundam pilot, much less two. He considered the serum that he had made himself commit to memory, the way it swayed viscously in the vial like silver death and entered the veins like burning ice. He thought he could identify it if he saw it again.

Finally, after several minutes of consideration, Heero answered Quatre's question. "No, I don't know exactly who it might have been. An older male, high ranking officer, too intelligent to be considered safe, even for OZ." He was a little surprised when he heard his voice come out hoarse, as though he'd been shouting only a few minutes ago. Quatre's warm hand moved in a small circle around his shoulder, then went to a wing, gently stroking it. Heero sighed as the tension and pain was massaged away. Damn it, what was wrong with him? Tell him to stop, just tell him you don't need him, don't need their help. "We can start running a check on paid medical volunteers," he continued, "see if there's a trail to follow. He said they went through a lot of them. He never mentioned his purpose."

Trowa stood and across the bar from Quatre and Heero, concerned about their comrade's welfare. Even though Heero wore the blank, unreadable face he took into battle, at any other time he wouldn't let anyone touch him. It wasn't often that their stoic friend showed any kind of distress, and now seeing it displayed in his actions was worrisome. He turned as he heard a chair scrape against the tiled kitchen floor and saw Wufei stand up angrily.

"We already know that!" he yelled furiously. He stormed up the stairs and they heard his door opening, the slamming of drawers and papers being rifled through, then his angry footsteps heading back downstairs. Wufei strode directly up to Heero and shoved the papers angrily in his face. "This," he said, looking him in the eye, "is OZ's explanation of why." It was apparent that it took all of his self-control not to tear the papers apart and spit on them in disgust. As soon as Heero reached up to take them from him he fisted his hands at his side and started pacing.

Heero braced himself and called on his training once more to get him through this, giving a silent thanks to Dr. J. He skimmed over the first page of governmental red tape, protocol, and noted contributions, his face not showing anything. He turned the pages and read like lightning, absorbing all the data into his eidetic memory and blocking any emotions that might obscure the facts. When he had finished reading he set the papers calmly onto the counter, folded his hands on the countertop, and then let the data filter into his consciousness.

"Security Level - (1) BIGOT . . . Experiment Course Alpha, J G34e . . . This medical experiment is to be executed for the purpose of furthering advances in human warfare and to perfect the human body. No longer will we be dependent on the production of mobile suits and the enormous resources required to produce and maintain wartime machines . . . Soldiers with the ability to fly, without the aid of machinery, are the future of mankind on the battlefield. The hopeful result is the growth of biological wings capable of lifting a human body and additional weight in flight . . . This experiment may be highly detrimental to the test subject's health and may result in death. To ensure greater chances of success the test subject must be in excellent physical condition, and preferably be expendable . . ."

Heero felt a spark of anger catch fire deep in his belly and did nothing to squelch it, but instead fed it, wanting it, letting it burn away his feeling of victimization. He let it smolder and grow until he thought it would boil over and consume his entire being. He realized that he felt pain in his hands, and when he looked down he saw the mangled remains of the counter edge crushed in his hands. Instead of lashing out and breaking anything he could get his hands on like he wanted to, he forced himself to let go and to turn the heat of anger into a cool, calculated wind that blew through his mind. He filled himself with ice and fire, like a deadly storm heavy with the promise of killing. Oh, how he wanted to kill. His hands gripped each other tightly until he knew they would bruise.

When he finally looked up from his thoughts his friends recoiled from the smoldering, icy fire in his eyes. It was the certain promise of death, and no one could stand in the way of his revenge. Preferably be expendable. . . "Who were they?" Heero asked slowly. None of them made a move to answer. "Who were they?" he growled more forcefully.

Wufei responded. "There's a list of people involved; researchers, founders, scientists, government officials. The only name missing is the one who performed the experiment. He apparently played a large part in developing the chemicals, too." He paused for a moment, wary of being a target for his anger. "Heero, I want you to make me a promise." He waited until the other's intense glare found his, then said quietly, "Leave some of them for the rest of us."

Heero gaze was difficult to meet, but each returned nothing less than the determined, merciless looks of trained assassins. He nodded curtly. They would get their revenge. And someone was going to die a very, very painful death.

"Did you get that, Duo?" Trowa called out loudly.

They heard a muffled cheer from down the hallway.

End Transmission

(1) BIGOT - code name for a security level beyond Top Secret (source: National Geographic, June 2002)