~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ToB-Ninmu

~ Tears of Blood: Gomen ~

He'd found Quatre, but the boy wasn't doing anything interesting.

Trowa completely ignored the fallen blanket around his feet, the fingers of ice trailing down his spine. Quatre lay, face up on the floor, unmoving. Without having to check for a pulse Trowa knew the boy was dead. Still, there was a tiny splinter of hope, sharp and painful, centered in his chest. He crawled to Quatre, unaware that he had dropped to his knees.

Staring at the pale face, Trowa couldn't bring himself to touch it. Quatre's eyes, wide and staring, were blank, flat. Pain and terror were etched in the lines still present on the boy's face. His mouth was open, gasping for unnecessary breath. One hand was clenched tight over his heart, wrinkling the fabric over his still chest. And just below that deathly pale hand was a rip, a gash in the boy's jacket. Trowa didn't linger on it, couldn't let himself linger on it, but he noticed something strange.

There was no blood. None at all. Quatre's clothes were dry, the floor clean. If there was no blood, then maybe… Trowa probed the tear, fingers trembling as they parted layers of slashed cloth. If there was no blood, then maybe…maybe Quatre was alive, unconscious but alive.

Somewhere in the back of Trowa's mind he knew that this was unreasonable. There was no way the smaller boy could still be alive. His skin, so pale it was almost white, was frozen. His chest, covered by layers of jackets and shirts, didn't rise or fall with the rhythm of breathing. His eyes, slightly clouded, didn't tear although they had been exposed to cold, dry air for long minutes. Quatre was dead.

But still, Trowa needed irrefutable proof. He needed to be absolutely certain that Quatre was…no longer here, before he allowed himself to crush the seedling of hope that grew bigger and stronger for the lack of blood. Loosing one gundam pilot and friend was enough. He could deal with that. But loosing two in less than a week? Trowa wasn't sure if he was capable of hiding his horror if Quatre proved to be dead. And if Quatre were dead, who had killed him, why, and how?

Questions chased one another, round and round in a mad game of tag. He did his best to ignore them, put them of the side. It was hard. To take his mind from the disturbing questions for which he had no answers, he forced himself to examine the prone body before him. The questions faded into the background as he took a closer look at the body.

Shaking fingers found skin, pulled apart cloth. Wide eyes peered down at the pale flesh, grew wider as they registered how deep the cut was. Swiftly Trowa searched for a pulse at the throat, at the wrist, even pressed his hand to the cold chest above the wound, desperate. He searched in vain. No pulse was to be found.

A tiny voice sounded in Trowa's mind. As it spoke it cut down the plant of hope that had taken root, chopped it up, and burned it. Trowa found himself sinking into depression as he listened.

'I told you. I told you he was dead, but did you listen? No~, you never listen to me. If you had listened, hope wouldn't have grown and you wouldn't be so broken when time came to cut it down. You truly are pathetic, encouraging hope to grow when you know you really should listen to me and kill the damn weed before it gets out of hand. You –

//Shut up! Just shut up! You're only a voice in my head. You're not real, so SHUT UP! // Trowa clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of the voice's derisive tirade. But it was futile, and Trowa realized that. He lowered his hands and endeavored to mentally block out the voice's ramblings. He couldn't do it.

In a daze Trowa stood and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Wufei was still pacing, muttering to himself in Chinese. Trowa watched himself walk up to the boy, heard himself say that Quatre was dead, but he didn't quite believe himself. Wufei blinked, brought himself out of his inner musings, and brushed past the taller boy into the ineptly named living room. As if from far away Trowa watched himself make the short journey to Heero's room. And indeed, he did seem to be disconnected. His body was acting all on its own, knowing what had to be done and doing it without help from Trowa's head or heart.

Again he delivered his message and watched as Heero left his laptop to join Wufei at the couch. Trowa simply followed, mute, unfeeling, as if some vital part of him was frozen in a block of ice, leaving him unable to be fully aware of what happened around his body.

He stood, silent, observing from the doorway. Heero and Wufei were bent over the fallen boy, examining him as Trowa himself had done only a few minutes before. Dimly he heard someone saying that it was no use, Quatre was undeniably dead, but he didn't recognize the voice. Wufei draped a blanket over the boy, and only then did Trowa realize that he was cold. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and grasping for his blanket, but his numb fingers found only cold air. That must be his blanket then, covering Quatre.

Cold as he was, Trowa thought that his small friend must be colder than even he, if he was lying on the floor with the blanket pulled up over his head. Trowa decided that he would let Quatre have his blanket. He would borrow Quatre's, and they could trade later if Quatre wanted.

But right now Heero was lifting the Arab in his arms. Quatre must be incredibly tired and cold if he had passed out on the floor. Heero would put the boy in his bed. But wait, Heero was heading for the door. That wasn't right. Quatre's bedroom was in the other direction…

'Idiot! Quatre's dead, not sleeping!' Trowa shook his head. The voice was wrong. Quatre couldn't be dead. There was no blood. 'Stupid, you know he's dead. There was no heartbeat, he wasn't breathing and you saw that gash. Quatre is dead.'

//Dead…? //

'Yeah, dead. He's gone, you know, bye bye!'

//Bye…? //

'Uh huh. Now repeat after me: Quatre… is… dead.'

//Quatre…dead…? //

'Yeah genius. Now get your skinny little butt outside and help bury him.'

//Bury…? //

'Tsuuu…'

Trowa continued to stare blankly at the wall, his attention focused on the internal dialogue taking place in his mind. Again, a small part of his brain recognized the fact that the tiny voice was right, but Trowa could not get the rest of his brain to accept that fact. He was eager to believe that Quatre was merely sleeping and would wake eventually. But when Heero and Wufei reentered the safe house without the blond, Trowa finally dismissed the idea.

He felt something give way in his chest. Quatre was dead, just as the voice said. The voice was right; it always was. But no matter how many times it was proved correct, no matter how much it hurt to abandon the fragile illusion of hope, Trowa always, always chose hope over the harsh truths spoken by the voice. Always.

The tall boy snapped out of his trance-like state, squashing the last tendrils of hope himself. He turned on his heel and walked to his room. Wufei would now be sleeping in the bed that used to be Quatre's. He had to clear out the dead boy's few possessions.

~~~

Wufei watched silently as Trowa walked out of the room. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on. Two gundam pilots killed, three still alive. Who would be the next target? Trowa? Heero? Himself? Wufei was not one to believe in Maxwell's supposed suicide. It wasn't because of the boy's smiles and laughs. When he had bandaged Maxwell's arms he noticed how clean and deep the cuts were. There was no sign of hesitation, none at all. If it had truly been a suicide, there should have been a few shallow scrapes where the boy had wondered if he really could kill himself.

There was also the lack of motivation. Although Maxwell had been spontaneous, Wufei highly doubted that he would have decided that he wanted to kill himself just for the hell of it. He knew how important the Gundams were if they were ever going to win this war. Maxwell would never have committed suicide without an excellent reason.

And what of Winner? He had been murdered inside the so-called safe house and none of the others had heard anything. Trowa had found the body, but not the blood. The only obvious wound on the corpse had been the deep slash in its chest, but even when Wufei had stuck a finger into the gash he had found no blood. There was no trace of red anywhere, not on the floor, not on the couch, not even on Quatre's clothes. Wufei didn't quite know what to make of that. He had never heard of anyone finding a corpse drained of blood and never finding the missing fluid.

The boy shook his head and turned to roam the shack once again. As he stalked down the hall Heero's open door caught his eye. Most likely, Yui had made a connection between the two deaths and already had a theory on what was happening to them. Wufei entered the room, barely acknowledging the glare he received.

~~~

Tiny flecks of dry, powdery snow drifted almost lazily from the clouds. They swirled, dancing leisurely as the wind caught them. Buoyed by the air currents, it seemed as if the snowflakes would continue to sail up until they rejoined the clouds, coming full circle. But gravity called to them tempted them with sweet offers of peaceful rest. They answered. The snowflakes began spiraling down, continuing their aerial ballet until they retired atop a fresh grave. Some never reached the ground, instead landing on a white robed boy kneeling in the snow.

Duo crossed himself, murmuring a quick prayer for the dead. As the words of the prayer were voiced a flower of blood unfolded its petals over the mound of newly piled snow. When the prayer was finished the boy rose. He stood a moment, gazing thoughtfully at the fresh grave. Hesitantly he opened his mouth and began to speak.

"Upon the rose

A life is lost

Bright as prose

Or cold as frost

Hear me Oh Ancient One

Dark Bringer

Why is life unfair?

Drift into places

Where no one dares"

As his voice faded away a sudden wind threw the snow into a crazy dance. The boy was swallowed in a flurry of white, his robe blending perfectly with the whirlwind of snow. When all was calm once more the boy was gone. A rose painted in blood remained: a tribute to the dead.

~~~

"Nanda, Wufei."

"What do you think is going on?"

Heero paused in his typing. So Wufei had noticed it too. Heero wondered briefly how long the other boy had known something wasn't right with the deaths of their comrades. He dismissed the thought, turning back to his laptop. He was almost done sending a notification to H regarding Quatre's death, although he was almost positive that they would receive no acknowledgement, just as with Duo's death.

Wufei waited patiently for Heero to finish typing. As soon as the boy removed his fingers from the keyboard however, he was once again probed for his thoughts.

"I have not yet obtained enough information to state a complete theory."

"Then tell me what you know." Wufei's dark eyes were narrowed. "Perhaps you noticed something that escaped my attention."

Heero inwardly sighed but related all he knew about the alleged mission. When he recited Duo's little speech about souls writhing in agony Wufei's almond eyes widened perceptibly. Heero wanted to smirk at the sight. However, by the time he told Wufei about seeing Duo flee with the knife he no longer wanted to smile. Here he was at fault for not stopping the teen. When he stated his reasons he felt like hitting himself a few times for being so juvenile.

As he listened Wufei was alternately confused, surprised and slightly bewildered by the braided teen's actions. Through out it all though, he felt an underlying sense of anger towards Heero for keeping quiet. As much as Wufei liked to work solo he knew that this was one situation they were all in together. If they all wanted to survive, they should all know everything each other knew.

Unconsciously Wufei tightened his fist. "Why didn't you tell us this sooner?"

Heero narrowed his eyes. "I didn't think anything would come of it."

In truth Heero had known something would happen but he hadn't wanted to tell any of the other pilots. They too would see that the fault lay in him. That was one of the few things Heero hated with a passion: being faulted.

"You could have prevented the death of a Gundam pilot and you didn't think anything would come of it?! Just how thick is your skull?!" With that Wufei turned and stalked out of the room.

Heero blinked, then growled low in his throat. This was exactly why he hadn't said anything. He looked back at his laptop and cursed; the email notification of Quatre's death had been sent back. H's account no longer existed. Heero punched the mattress hard enough to make his laptop bounce dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He shut down the computer and, after placing it out of the way, stormed out of the room with no clear destination in mind.

~~~

In a dark room a tall man stared intently into one of the many obsidian basins before him. He waved a hand over the scrying glass, fingers hovering bare millimeters above the surface of the inky contents. The surface rippled, water-like, then cleared. A longhaired boy appeared in the glass, crouched over a fresh grave. As the boy crossed himself the man smirked. // Old habits die hard, I suppose. //

The man's eyes widened imperceptibly as a crimson rose bloomed over the mound of snow. Though he had existed for centuries he had never seen anything like that flower. He wasn't how the boy had done it, nor was he certain that this turn of events didn't signal the coming end of his rule.

As he gazed at the bloody flower a sudden urge overcame him. He turned away from the basin, idly waving a hand over it once more. The scrying glass went dark and the man left the room. He headed to one of his more private chambers. The next to go had to see the rose before it withered. But first, something had to be done about Duo. The boy needed to be reminded of his place.

As soon as the door closed a face appeared thought the inky depths of the scrying glass. Hazel eyes wide with fear, the young man mouthed two words.

'…Kid… stop…'

~~~

Trowa stepped out of his room just in time to see Wufei stomp out of Heero's. He watched silently as the Chinese one snatched up his duffel from a corner of the living room and headed back in Trowa's direction. Silently the tall boy moved aside, permitting entrance. His emerald gaze lingered for a moment on Wufei, curious about what had gotten him so upset.

He turned to walk down the hall again but stopped short as Heero burst from his room. The boy looked ready to maim anything that happened his way. Trowa shook his head; now that Duo was no longer here for Heero to take his anger out on the Japanese youth had to find another target.

Heero turned left into the kitchen, so Trowa ruled that room out of his choices of wanderings. He walked down the hall, not pausing to watch the blue-eyed hurricane pace the kitchen. One thing was for sure: Trowa did not want to be the one to clean up the mess left over after Heero was done with his tantrum.

He wondered what his two companions could have been talking about that would get both of them so upset. No, upset wasn't the word; upset made it sound as if Wufei and Heero were toddlers arguing over who got to play with the dump truck first. No, they were way beyond upset. Wufei looked positively furious and Heero seemed mad enough to strangle someone. Although he was curious, Trowa was no idiot. He would wait out the storm and hopefully when one of them had calmed down he would be able to question without an overwhelming fear of being hideously tortured before being allowed to die a slow and painful death.

Trowa had no problem picturing the horrible death he would surely suffer if he dared disturb either of the others. He had seen so many deaths, so much suffering in his short life. Any one of those scenes of destruction could very well be the setting of his own demise. If there was a merciful God out there somewhere, maybe he could leave this life suddenly, one burst of pain and it would be all over. However, if fate decided to deal him a loosing hand, he could expect various, effective methods of torture and pain before the life was smothered out of him.

Perhaps having an imagination slightly more vivid than a rock was a bad thing.

~~~

Wufei paced the small room he would, from this day until the time this crazy mystery was solved, reside in along with Barton. It may have been foolish of him but he had not wanted to take Maxwell's bed. The boy had died there and Wufei had a certain… aversion to sleeping in the place that someone he had known and fought along side with had died. He was a more than a bit uneasy about remaining in this place, but damned if he was going to admit it!

He would be strong, and conquer his fears. He had to. He may be unworthy to pilot Nataku, but he prayed her spirit would lend him her strength and thus allow him to make it out of this alive. In return he would train even harder, hopefully make a decent warrior out of himself, become a man Meiran would have been proud to wed.

But what was he up against? To survive he would need a plan, but for that plan to be effective he needed some idea of the problem he was facing. At the moment he had put together very little of the problem at hand. He needed to think, examine all the clues he had gathered both on his own and from Yui. The thought of the Japanese youth rekindled the flame of anger that had cooled somewhat while he had been pacing. Wufei returned to pacing with renewed vigor, muttering all the while about thickheaded, juvenile acts of silence.

~~~

Heero harshly berated himself as he walked in circles around the kitchen. Trowa had thought Heero mad enough to strangle someone and indeed Heero felt like strangling someone: himself. His childish acts earlier had resulted in the loss of the Deathscythe pilot and most likely the loss of the Sandrock pilot as well. The two deaths were undoubtedly connected in some way, although Heero could not yet imagine how.

He knew he should calm down and look at this situation rationally, logically, but he was having one hell of a time attempting that feat. Every time he started to relax something reminded him of his own immature wish to see how far Duo would go. Whenever he chanced to look at the counter he was reminded of how Duo had attempted to poison them and how he had done nothing but watch. If he happened to look at the table he recalled Quatre sitting there, lost in memories of Duo's destruction. The fact never escaped him that if he had just done something, anything to confront the boy, Duo would never have had the chance to kill himself.

Heero slammed one fist into the countertop hard enough to send tiny fractures along the surface of the Formica and shivers of pain up his arm. He barely glanced at his hand to check if he had split his knuckles. He hadn't. Briefly Heero closed his eyes. This was maddening. They were stuck in this pathetic excuse for a safe house with almost no contact with the outside world and someone seemingly determined to kill them all. All right, so he was exaggerating; they weren't really stuck and if they tried hard enough they could contact someone in the outside world. Heero wasn't usually prone to exaggeration, but he was worked up!

Taking a deep breath he attempted to calm himself once more. This time he was slightly more successful. Some of the anger leeched away and his muscles relaxed a bit, but he was still tense and there was more than a healthy amount of anger left over. He could, however, think more rationally now. Heero easily lifted himself onto the countertop to sit and think for a while.

~~~

Duo hurried through the halls of the master's palace keeping the incriminating scythe close to his body and letting his bangs shadow his eyes. It was ironic. From the time the master had taken his soul he had known the symbolism of the scythe. Duo had feared ever doing anything that would cause him to don the white robe and take up the accompanying scythe. And yet for some bizarre reason the gundam he ended up piloting was equipped with the dreaded tool. Damn foreshadowing.

This time however, he kept a lookout for any other souls and successfully avoided banging into any of them. He really did not need another beating, thank you very much. At least, he believed he didn't deserve another beating, but what the slave thought made no difference. Whether he got one or not was entirely up to the master's disposition.

Duo turned one last corner and sighted the massive doors leading to the throne room. He had been summoned again, but this time he didn't know what to expect. Previously when he had been summoned he had known that he was in trouble. He had stepped out of line and deserved what punishment the master dealt out. But this time Duo couldn't see anything for which he might be punished. He had killed Qua…one of the Gundam pilots, just as ordered. But he hadn't been ordered to say that prayer for him. In fact, he probably shouldn't have said it at all… Okay, so maybe he did have something to be worried about.

The braided one hesitated in front of the gigantic doors, but quickly forced himself to place his palm over the black handprint that served as a lock. The enormous doors swung open without the traditional squeak of hinges heard in old horror movies. Duo stepped into the room and handed his scythe over to one of the guards standing beside the portal. He was glad to be rid of the thing despite the fact that even though the scythe was not in his hands he was still a failure.

Duo kept his head down as he walked forward. Other souls in the room silently parted for him. It was as if he had an infectious disease and if any of the other souls accidentally came into contact with him or his damned white robes, they would be contaminated and dragged down to his level. That's how it seemed to Duo anyway.

When he reached the middle of the room the boy dropped to his knees. He waited there, bowed on the cold stone floor, until the master chose to acknowledge his presence. When his name was spoken Duo rose to his feet but kept his head lowered. He waited, silent, for the master's words.

"You have done well in disposing the blond." Duo felt his chest swell with the praise. "However, I do not condone your prayer for him. Don't be so surprised; I was watching you. And I will continue to watch you until you dispose of the remaining 3 pilots, understand?"

Duo nodded vigorously. He understood very well. If he did anything, anything at all that was even slightly out of line, he was worse than dead. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Irehi, take him," the man motioned to Duo. "To see his friend."

Duo started; he had not expected that. A soul clothed in a dark blue robe stepped forward and gave the braided one a quick once-over, contempt clearly visible in his bright green eyes. Duo felt himself shrink a little, shoulders rounding protectively. Irehi brushed past him, but he was acutely aware of how the other soul stayed just out of reach.

Hiding a sigh Duo followed his escort to the doors. He halted abruptly as the guard thrust a scythe in front of his face. The violet-eyed soul was sorely tempted to duck under the shining blade and run off without it but he knew better. The master, along with Irehi of the Blue Robe and all the other souls in attendance were watching. Duo squashed the urge and, reluctantly, grabbed the long wooden handle.

Irehi walked quickly, most likely eager to drop his charge and run. His colored robe swished against his ankles, captivating Duo's attention. The braided one could not take his eyes off the blue cloth before him. He wanted that robe. Oh how he wanted that robe and the position it signified. Sure the Blue Robes were only slightly higher in status than your average soul, but even the typical soul was indefinitely higher than a White Robe. White Robes were the diseased, deformed and otherwise contemptible of the master's souls. The Colored Robes were the privileged, the ones everyone wanted to be. The elite. There had been a time once… but that time was long past, gone forever.

When Irehi stopped suddenly Duo almost ran into him. He caught himself just in time, barely saving himself from another beating. Irehi looked over his shoulder and glared. Duo cringed. He was not scared of the glare itself; in fact, it was a downright pathetic glare compared to any one of Heero's. No, Duo was more afraid of the meaning of that look than anything else. In that one glance Irehi effectively conveyed that if Duo had stopped one millisecond later, the braided boy would have been flayed alive, or whatever the equivalent was, seeing as how he was already dead.

Silently, still delivering his wordless threat, the green-eyed soul pushed open the door. Cold air flooded out of the room and a thin mist crept along the floor. Duo edged around the taller man and slid carefully into the dark room beyond. Abruptly he froze, eyes widening as he realized where he was: the room of the condemned. Behind him the door swung shut, plunging the room into complete darkness but for the watery, pale light of the containment chambers. He shivered, the cold of the room piercing his bones.

Duo started walking.

~~~

Wufei stopped pacing midstride, finally realizing that pacing would do him no good. He needed to calm down so he could think. Although the boy was loath to do it with the temperature being as low as it was he peeled off his coat. He would be more than warm enough soon. As soon as the heavy coat was out of the way he launched himself into one of the many difficult katas he practiced daily. His awareness of the world around him faded until all he was conscious of was his own body, muscles tensing and relaxing as he glided through the fluid movements.

~~~

Letting his mind drift away from visions of his bloody death, Trowa ventured into the living room. Naturally his eyes shied away from the couch but the tall boy forced himself to walk right up to it. He knelt down next to the large piece of furniture and laid his palm on the hard wood floor. Before his eyes, Quatre appeared as he had been when Trowa first found him. The emerald-eyed one stared at the apparition before him. The hand that had been touching the floor was shoved deep into Quatre's chest wound, making it appear as if the blond had grown an extra arm from his breastbone.

Trowa shook his head and moved his arm, dislodging the hallucination. He tried not to think of this area as the place Quatre had died in. Instead he attempted to convince himself that at one time a body had lain there. A body, not Quatre, his friend. But the harder he tried, the clearer he saw the small Arab and the harder it was to vanquish the spirit. Once Trowa heard a muffled thump from the kitchen, but the phantom didn't waver with his concentration.

This was his tradition, his way of saying good-bye to the dead. He did it for all he had killed and for those of his few friends who had died. Earlier Trowa had gone into the bathroom and simply stood looking at the place Duo had cut himself. He'd also spent some time watching the braided one's likeness flicker in and out of being on the bed. He had stared out of the window at the white world beyond the glass straining to make out the boy's grave. Now he would do the same for Quatre.

After a long while Trowa managed to banish the image of Quatre's body for a full minute. He then rose from the floor and turned to the window. It was highly doubtful that he'd see anything more than a flurry of white but the boy was determined to try. Not many knew of his silent good-byes but he unfailingly delivered them. This contributed to endless nights of bad dreams, but Trowa figured he owed at least that much to the dead.

As he approached the window, the boy became aware of a clinking sound. It was hailing. The stones were about the size of a golf ball and the wind was strong enough to send them plinking against the window. Trowa stayed close to the glass but didn't lean against it. His breath was hot against the cold pane, fogging it up in an instant. Periodically as he peered out into the hail-battered world he had to swipe at the mist obscuring his view.

In truth it didn't make much of a difference whether the window was fog-free or not. The hailstones were either in sharp focus or they were fuzzy, but it was still just hail. Yet Trowa diligently continued staring out the window, wishing for just one glimpse of the graves.

He peered out of that window for another few minutes without sighting anything that might have been a grave. Finally he backed off, shaking his head and ignoring the pale phantom once again lying prone at the foot of the couch. The boy turned to the kitchen, praying that either Heero had left that room or, if not, that he had sufficiently calmed down enough so Trowa could grab a drink without trouble.

~~~

Heero glanced at the doorway when he heard someone entering. Trowa nodded a greeting and Heero turned back to his inner musings. He almost had a theory about what was happening to them, but there were still a few points unexplained. Dark blue eyes closed as the boy contemplated the options.

~~~

With glass of water in hand Trowa retreated from the kitchen. He was glad Heero seemed to be calm. He did not relish the thought of cleaning up any mess the other boy made. But if Trowa didn't clean it no one would. Neither Heero nor Wufei seemed the type to clean broken plates from the floor; the pieces wouldn't endanger the mission.

Trowa returned to the window and took up his search once more. He saw nothing but white hail, but that was slowing. He could see more of the world beyond the glass, or at least, he assumed that he could see more. Still all he saw was the hailstones falling close to the window and, beyond that, blank whiteness. Blank, blank-red?

"What the hell…?"

The blanket fell to the ground. Unthinkingly Trowa turned and raced to the door. As soon as he turned the knob icy wind forced its way in. Hail stones battered his body but he took no notice. He was irrationally intent on making it to the unidentified splotch of red. Trowa knew something was wrong with this. Not just today, this week, or this entire idiotic "mission". Something was off inside of him as well. If he were thinking clearly he wouldn't be rushing off into this storm by himself. He wouldn't have been so affected by the deaths of Quatre and Duo. Hell, if he had been thinking clearly he wouldn't have even taken this stupid assignment! He had known that this so-called mission was –most likely- fake. There could be nothing that any one of them could do this far from civilization, let alone all four of them together.

Yet, something had compelled him to acknowledge this mission. That something was now forcing him to fight his way through the blinding hail and against the icy wind. It sparked a desire to see for himself what that red blotch was, a desire so strong Trowa was unable to resist. Step by painful step he made his way ever closer to the flash of red. Hail stones zipped by, stinging his chilled flesh. He was quickly soaked to the skin, shivering, shaking with both cold and anxiety. Why couldn't he stop? Why did his body continue onward despite the urgent messages from his brain to turn back?

He took a deep breath of frozen wind, fighting back the urge to cough as the icy air hit the back of his throat. Muscles tensed as the boy attempted to halt his progress. His body moved onward: one, two, three steps, then stopped. He stood quivering for a while, valiantly resisting the compulsion to keep moving ahead. His body jerked forward another step.

Trowa grit his teeth and clenched his fists in an effort to halt all movement. The wind whipped around him, piercing straight through his clothes to chill his flesh. Although goose bumps were raised along his arms and legs, sweat trickled slowly down the boy's face. He was shaking, muscles straining and crying out against the need to move. Yet he held on.

~~~

A man cloaked in shadows frowned as his target resisted. He admired the boy for his persistence and strong will, but was determined to make the boy see the crimson blossom. He had made up his mind and once he had decided something nothing could change it. Time to change tactics. The man sent another command, resolved to make the boy see the flower.

~~~

Concentration slipped as Trowa attempted to turn around. His body took two steps before he was able to regain control, fragile as that control was. Unable to go back and unwilling to go forward he stayed rooted in place, shaking. But he was fighting a loosing battle. The urge was indefatigable whereas Trowa was not. He was already tiring, his strength seeping from ever pore in his body.

Suddenly the wind changed directions. Hail no longer struck his face. Instead the stones pelted his back. The wind blew hard as if to force him onward, away from the safe house and headlong into whatever awaited him at the red splotch. Trowa was thrown off balance by the change of winds and staggered forward a few steps before he managed to catch himself again. The wind howled as if in disappointment, then doubled its efforts. A particularly large hailstone nailed him square in the back. Trowa's concentration shattered and he jerked forward. Although he tried he was too exhausted, his energy levels too depleted to effectively resist the urge. He staggered onward, pushed by the wind and hail at his back, pulled by the unknowable force to his front.

~~~

The shadowed man smiled, pleased that the boy had finally given in.

Elsewhere, another boy continued walking, likewise dreading every step that brought him closer to his destination. Both staggered on, shivering with cold and apprehension. Neither grasped just how much the sight of their destinations would effect them.

~~~

He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. The katas had helped relax him, and a shower would calm him even further. Wufei walked out of the room and across the hall. He stripped off his shirt, shivering as cold air flooded over his overheated skin. Quickly he finished disrobing, climbed into the shower stall and turned the hot water on full blast. His skin twitched as cold water burst from the showerhead. The water quickly heated up until the boy was in danger of being scalded.

As he scrubbed the Chinese boy noticed a dark red smear on his chest. Puzzled, he rubbed at it with the washcloth. The streak came away on the cloth, leaving his chest soapy but otherwise clean. Wufei shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair. He went on with his shower, putting the red smear out of his mind for the moment.

~~~

Duo wrapped his arms around his shoulders, wishing that his robe offered more protection against the cold emanating from the containment chambers. Then again, perhaps his chill was caused by the moans and occasional shrieks let out by the tormented souls. They surrounded him, floating in the clear fluid that filled the cells, crying out in pained supplication. Their eyes were wide in their pale faces, staring, staring…

For the most part Duo was able to ignore the piercing looks, block out the sight of ones like him writhing in agony and force himself onward. Quatre would be in the cell farthest from the door. He had to keep moving. The master had his ways of knowing everything everyone of his servants did. He had to do as the master ordered.

'…Duo…!'

Duo froze. That voice… No…

Frantically the boy whipped around, carefully not looking up at the circular chambers next to him. He scanned the base of the cell he had just passed, searching for the number he knew was engraved in the metal base. He had to see, had to make sure. There was no way he had come that far already. It was impossible. Where was that number? Surely it wasn't-

#151. Duo dropped his scythe, oblivious to the resounding clang as the blade hit the stone floor. He rubbed at his eyes but the number was still the same. The boy sprinted to the cell across the way, checked its number. 152. And the one next to it was number 154. No mistake then.

Warily he turned around, lifted his eyes to chamber number 153. The soul contained inside was shaking, arms wrapped tightly around himself, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Pained hazel eyes stared at Duo from under a fall of light brown hair. Duo was captured by that gaze, unable to look away and barely able to breathe. He had changed so much… Duo heard someone whisper a name and belatedly realized that it had been he who had spoken.

"…Solo…"

~~~

A rose painted in blood. Trowa sagged to his knees as he saw the flower left on Quatre's grave. Tentatively he touched it, half expecting it to vanish upon contact. When it didn't he gazed at his red-stained fingers, unbelieving. He rubbed them together, surprised that the blood was still liquid.

Without warning he shot to his feet and began forcing his way back to the safe house. The wind impeded his progress but at least the hail was letting up. The stones dwindled in size until they were no bigger than peas then disappeared all together. Snow whirled down from the heavens, coating the hail-littered ground, dusting Trowa's bowed head.

He squinted ahead, relieved and somewhat surprised at the blurry sight of the safe house. He hadn't been walking for a minute yet. Were the graves really that close to the shack? Time and distance seemed to be playing tricks on his already dazed and tired mind. But that itself might be the answer. Exhaustion from his mental battle, compounded with the stresses of the past four days, hell, the past 16 years, was enough to explain away any confusion he felt about this short journey.

// When I get inside I'm going to bed. Not even the dreams will wake me up until I've gotten at least 5 hours of sleep. //

Trowa staggered though the door, barely managing to drag it shut after him. He made his way to his room slowly, fatigued almost beyond his limits. Luckily his body was still numb with cold, rendering his mind unconscious to the pain of the bruises he knew were forming all over his body. He was too tired to care about the pain he knew he would wake up to. All he cared about was sleep.

As he dragged himself past the kitchen he barely noted Heero's questioning glance. Trowa didn't even have the energy to blink at the other youth. If he blinked he would most likely never open his eyes again. Muffled noises coming from the bathroom told him that Wufei was inside. Trowa was grateful for that. There would be no interruptions as he made his way to his bed and flopped down onto the mattress. Dragging the blankets up over his head used up the last of his energy. The boy sighed deeply then slept, all conscious thoughts slipping away from him as he sank into the abyss of sleep.

~~~

"…Solo…"

The soul of the young man stared unblinkingly, hazel eyes seeming at once familiar and alien. Duo felt his chest constrict even further as he met those eyes. They were the same shade from long ago but the stark terror evident in that gaze warped any and all other familiarity.

Both souls stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. Neither spoke or moved except for the shivers that perpetually wracked Solo's body. All of Duo's concentration was focused on the young man before him. Even the occasional screams emitted from the souls around them couldn't break the spell. As much as he wanted to Duo couldn't look away. The sight of his friend shaking in pain captivated him the way people are drawn to the scene of an accident. He was frozen, unable to move, body totally and completely ignoring mind's shouts to get the hell out of there. He watched, breath shallow, as Solo opened his mouth.

'…Kid… Stop…'

The words broke Duo free from his paralyzed state. He sucked in a huge breath and began backing away from his one-time friend. Still he could not break eye contact, couldn't even close his eyelids against the sight of the young man's soul. He continued backpedaling, freezing in place a moment as he encountered the smooth coolness of containment chamber number 152.

Duo whirled around, eyes wide as he turned to face the soul behind him. Her head was thrown back, body contorted into an almost impossible backbend. Hands like talons, she clawed at her throat as if to tear out her carotid artery. But as Duo watched the wounds healed themselves almost instantly. There was no blood to cloud the fluid surrounding her. She screamed, continuing to claw at her neck despite the futility of her act.

Frantically, stumbling over his own feet, Duo scrambled deeper into the chamber, away from the screaming, clawing girl and the silent, shuddering Solo. He dared not look back for he feared that if he did he would once again meet the hypnotic gaze of his friend and be rooted to the spot, this time forever. Trapped by the large hazel eyes he would be unable to break free. He would be ensnared, condemned to everlasting torment before his time.

Duo ran past the holding cells, unheeding the calls of the tormented. Belatedly he realized he no longer had his scythe with him. He must have dropped it while looking at Solo… Well, he'd just grab it on his way out. He'd keep his head down and run like hell until he was past cell no. 153. Then he wouldn't be caught by the other soul's hypnotic gaze. He would make it out, finish his mission and hope that the master would be lenient in his punishment.

Eventually the soul slowed to a walk. He was breathing hard, much too hard for just a short sprint. Terror had tightened the muscles in his throat, made deep breaths next to impossible. Duo paused a moment, hands on knees. When he was breathing easier he began walking again, studiously ignoring the containment chambers and their captive souls. He focused on his feet, putting one in front of the other in a measured rhythm, never missing a beat.

He was so absorbed in forcing himself onward that he didn't notice when he passed his destination and continued to walk past empty glass cylinders. The vocalizations of the condemned reverberated throughout the entire room making it impossible for the boy to judge when he passed through the columns of tortured souls and into the as yet unoccupied cells.

Something made him stop and take stock of his immediate surroundings. Duo blinked in surprise when he saw the empty chambers to either side of him. He hesitated, not wanting to turn around but knowing that he had to. The master was probably watching him right now. He had been sent to see Quatre and if he attempted to leave without doing so… Well, the resulting tortures would be going straight to the top of his 'Things That Really, Really Suck' list.

So reluctantly he turned to face back the way he came. For a moment he couldn't get his legs to work. Then an image of the beatings he would get forced him to move so fast he nearly fell over. Once he regained his balance he continued to backtrack until he came to Quatre's little space in Hell.

For a while all Duo could do was stare. The soul caught behind glass seemed blind to the presence of his small audience. He writhed, frantically squirming as if he were possessed by a worm about to become fish food. Quatre's pale hair floated around his face, an undulating frame for the portrait of consummate agony expressed in too-bright eyes.

Duo found himself talking to the entrapped soul, unable to dam the flow of words. "Guess you wouldn't recognize me now, eh Quatre? Bet you never thought I could do something like kill one of the only friends I've ever had. But I have. I've killed friends before, and I'll do it again. It's not like I wanna do it. I gotta. 'S my mission." He chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

"This is all my fault. Just 'cause I was a stupid little street brat desperate to survive… I'm cursed, that's what I am. I didn't wanna hafta do this to ya buddy, but it's done now. Can't undo it, can't go back in time and correct all the mistakes I've made." Duo placed a palm against the smooth barrier, gazing up at the condemned soul of his friend and victim.

"Gomen," he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the cold glass.

He didn't notice when Quatre looked down at him, eyes full of gentle understanding.

~ Tsuzuku ~

~ A/N: The poem spoken by Duo was, sadly, not written by me. It was pulled from the depths of my friend Morpheus-kami's mind. All credit goes to him. Hail the poetry writing god of dreams