~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ON- Part 1

~ Note: This is after the war. All the other pilots appear, even Wufei

~ Obsidian Night: Part II ~

"Are you awake yet Little One?"

Quatre froze. Little One? The only person who ever called him that was Trowa… But Trowa wouldn't have hurt him: he was Quatre's best friend, or had been during the war. Although he treasured the time spent with the tall clown, they had not talked since Dekim had been killed.

"Don't give anything away you idiot." The voice was pitched so low that Quatre could barely make out the words.

What was going on? That couldn't have been Trowa; Trowa was his friend. It had to have been someone else, someone else who decided to use that name because Quatre was small. He had grown very little since the war, only 158 centimeters tall now and weighing only 42 kilograms.

The second comment didn't make much sense, but maybe something had happened earlier when he was unconscious, or before he had even been captured. Maybe the second person meant not to show and kindness or anything that could be mistaken for compassion. Quatre didn't know. He discarded the thoughts as useless, figuring he would have much more important things on his mind shortly.

He was right.

Because of is new position Quatre didn't have the benefit of being able to feel the air moving as the door opened or closed. However, he could feel the floor vibrate slightly as people came near, their boots thudding against the concrete. This had the bonus of allowing Quatre to roughly judge how big his opponents were.

Someone rather light on his or her feet approached him. Quatre's breathing quickened, along with his heartbeat. He knew that was bad. It would show his enemies that he was awake, but worse, it would let them know that he was intimidated at the very least. And once they knew for a fact that he was afraid of them… it would give them intense satisfaction when they hurt him.

Quatre knew that when someone is sure they accomplished a goal involving others, if they continue they are more satisfied than when they started. He knew that when he played his violin for an audience, he enjoyed playing more if he knew the audience appreciated the music. That was why Quatre best loved playing his violin when he was playing for himself. However, he did enjoy the knowledge that others enjoyed his music too.

"Oi, mite!" Quatre experienced anxiety when he thought they had noticed his acceleration in breathing. "The poor guy is scared…"

"If he knew what we did to others like him… I can see why he's be scared."

The room erupted into mirthless laughter. Quatre felt his heartbeat triple in fear of approaching torment. Although he was extremely sure that he would be sick at the very least if he heard what they'd previously done, some part of him still wanted to know. Quatre was horrified with that part of him. He failed to realize that the same ZERO system that had caused him to blow up an entire colony and nearly kill Trowa had awakened the part that was curious.

"Come here little guy." Quatre became thoroughly confused. "Gotcha! Hope you've had a good life, cuz you're about to go to where ever chibi nezumi go when they're dead."

Quatre was shocked. They were going to torture and kill a mouse! He had never possessed a particular liking for the animals, but he wasn't for killing them just because they existed, let alone torturing! Despite actively participating in the war and being responsible for hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths, Quatre hated killing and felt awful when he heard about a death.

A loud squeak of fear and pain made the boy's heart clench, Quatre listened in silence as the mouse continued to squeak, afraid that if he made a sound the sadistic gang would turn their attentions on him. He was ashamed of himself, but still he didn't move. Soon the mouse's squeaks sounded garbled.

Quatre knew what was happening. Blood was coming out of the mouse's mouth, maybe even filling its lungs. He wished they would snap its neck if they had to kill it. At least that way the death would be quick and hopefully painless. But this was a ruthless gang, one that seemed to feed on the pain and blood of others. They would torture anything alive, even one of their own number.

Eventually the mouse fell silent, its cries slowly dying away into silence. For a moment that silence hung in the air, only to be interrupted by laughter. Quatre let a mental shudder run down his spine, careful not to let his horror show outwardly. He ignored the shiver, praying it wouldn't be visible to the eyes of those who captured him.

"Is he awake?" Quatre now felt sure that they were talking about him, not another mouse. "If you aren't, it's time to wake up!"

That was all the warning the boy was granted before a heavy weight pressed his chest forcing the air out of his lungs. Abruptly the weight, which he suspected to be a boot, was removed. Quatre assumed either someone knocked the shoe's owner off balance or they were concerned he was so fragile that he would die if put under too much strain. The truth didn't matter; Quatre was just glad that the pressing weight was gone and he could breathe freely again.

The Arabian boy coughed a few times before his lungs began functioning correctly. He just knew that the gang had grinned to find him awake, although how he had come by that knowledge he didn't know. Quatre didn't have time to ponder his sudden knowledge; the gang began its attack on him the next moment.

For a while, all he was aware of was the assault on his body. Mostly it was the familiar pain of punches and kicks, although every now and then he would experience the sharper pain of metal biting into his flesh or flames engulfing small portions of him. I am going to have such a hospital bill… Quatre thought inanely. It was the sort of remark Duo had been likely to make. The Arabian hardly realized it amidst the pain erupting all over. His mind was so confused he almost couldn't remember his own name, much less the name of someone he hadn't spoken to in ages.

A particularly hard punch made Quatre think they were aiming to make him a permanent part of the floor by brute force. He fought back the urge to succumb to the darkness of unconsciousness. Staying conscious and as alert as possible was a good idea in a place like this. One never knew if one would be raped or murdered while one was unconscious, and Quatre was determined to get out of this place alive and still a virgin.

The thought of rape was a nasty one. Thankfully Quatre wasn't a girl. Therefore the possibility of conceiving a child who would remind him of the event was obviously out of the question. However, the scars it would cause, both physical and psychological, would be painful. Quatre didn't want to live out the rest of his life, short though it may be, living with the memory of an event like that.

All this flashed through his mind in the space of a heartbeat. Considering how his heart was beating at the time, that was a relatively quick thought. Another blow winded him, leaving the boy gasping for breath. The people around him laughed yet again, apparently amused by the sight of the young Arabian lying chained on the ground, gasping for air.

Unfortunately, it didn't keep Quatre's assailants from continuing their attack on the boy. They continued to laugh, drawing great pleasure from repeatedly hitting the restrained form and watching others strike the afore mentioned form. Quatre himself simply endured. This was incredibly similar to that time he had been captured by OZ and tortured. He had survived that, now he would survive this.

But that time he had known the other pilots would save him. He had been taken while Deathscythe Hell and Wing Zero were on the same battlefield as Sandrock kai. Apparently Duo had seen Sandrock being taken to the nearby Libra because the American pilot had saved him. (-_-;; OK, so that didn't actually happen…This is my fic peoples, thus my word is law, or something ^_^;;)

With a sinking heart Quatre realized his friends would not be saving him this time around. All he could do was pray that the Magunacs came to his aid, and soon.

Eventually the punches and kicks slowed. Quatre assumed they were going to break for sleep. Had the day passed so quickly though? Half of him wished it was true, but the other half hoped it wasn't night already. Night meant a slight break in the pain, but it also meant he had only until noon the next day to live. Quatre was sure they weren't joking when they had said they would kill him at noon.

So when the talking didn't diminish he experienced a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Apparently they were only taking a small break, probably for food. This new suspicion was confirmed as sounds of eating and drinking registered in Quatre's brain, and the scent of food and beer wafted to where Quatre was tied.

Despite the fact that the food and drink smelled horrible, he became aware of his hunger. Before, the pain of the violence had distracted him rather effectively from the rumbling in his stomach. The last time he had eaten was two nights ago…or had it been three? He didn't know. All that mattered now was that he was ravenously hungry and incredibly thirsty. There was probably no chance of getting anything to eat of drink anytime soon.

Quatre lightly chewed his tongue, remembering that doing so makes the saliva glands work more. This staved off his thirst a bit, although it did nothing to help his hunger. Al least his throat wasn't bone dry anymore.

All too soon the gang finished their meal. As they crowded around him again, Quatre uselessly thought, Don't they know you're supposed to wait a half-hour before doing any activities? Either they didn't know or they didn't care. It really failed to matter because they resumed their attack on the boy without moment's hesitation.

It was getting old, really. It was the same hour after hour for Allah only knew how long. Sure, the places he was kicked or punched varied, but essentially it was the same. Quatre ended up in pain, while his tormentors enjoyed themselves. It was beginning to seem as if life had always been like that, as bad as it sounds.

But who could get used to near constant pain? Well, the former Gundam pilots, for starters. Heero seemed immune to any feeling, painful or otherwise. Duo had lived on the streets for the first years of his life, and then he survived loosing those who were dear to him on L2. He probably still carried that pain hidden within him somewhere.

Trowa, grown up on the battlefield, a soldier with no real name, being forced to witness and be the cause of so many deaths from such a young age… And Wufei. Quatre didn't know the particulars, but from what he had picked up, the Chinese boy had once been married, but his wife died during a battle. Wufei took her death harshly, still carrying he memory with him.

Quatre himself, even he had known extreme pain. Money does not buy happiness, and he knew that for a fact. First believing he was a test-tube baby, then witnessing his father's and one of his sister's deaths the same day… The memories of that awful explosion that had taken his father from him, then the shock wave that had sent Quatre hurtling to the back of the shuttle, Iria softening the blow with her own body, giving her life for her younger brother…

Quatre lived every day with those memories, along with those of countless battles, innumerable deaths, and now having to live with these new memories. He could take the physical pain. It was the emotional he was worried about. So much had been his fault… If only he had done something…

He drifted back to the present moment, the gang beating him, the pain once again becoming real. While he had been remembering, the physical pain hadn't been as intense. He had retreated within himself, the pain receding to a low pulse, terrible in its own way but more manageable. Now it flared up again, claiming his full attention.

Quatre had no idea how time progressed he was dreading the coming of the hour when the majority of the gang would bed down leaving only a few awake, yet he also longed for it. Neither feeling was stronger than the other, and Quatre remained in conflict with himself.

Time continued on, steady or no, but always in one direction: forward. Quatre knew as much, just as anyone not a moron knew. So he was prepared for the time to come for the majority of the gang to leave. And still he was undecided about whether or not he was glad that time had come around. He shoved it to the back of his mind; there were more important matters at hand.

Like why he wasn't being hit at the moment. Yes, he enjoyed the change, but it made him nervous. Was anyone even left in the room? A slight shuffle answered that question. Next: why wasn't the person striking him? Quatre's guard the last time had seemed very interested in what to do to him while alone in the room with the Arabian.

And, an inane as it may seem, how in the name of Allah was he supposed to stop that annoying drip of blood? It tickled him, yet there was no way he could wipe it away. How utterly annoying. In the worst of situations the smallest things appear to be the hardest to ignore. He did his best.

Quatre nearly sighed. His mind was over-analyzing again. Maybe he should just be grateful for the momentary respite from the torture. He had gone without sleep for far too long. Perhaps he should throw caution to the wind and dare to sleep.

That was his last thought before unconsciousness claimed his mind, and the exhausted boy dropped into a dream filled sleep.

Nightmares crowded Quatre's subconscious mind. Mysterious shadows laughing as they slowly tortured him to the brink of death… The three Fates from ancient Greek mythology grinning as they cut the thin strand they held that was his very thread of life… Vivid explosions of red against the black night, turning the obsidian-like darkness to a blood red that dripped, staining whatever it touched…Visions of his friends being tortured as he himself had been tortured, Quatre helplessly watching, unable to help.

Needless to say it was a rather restless night for Quatre.

When he woke he was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and he was panting slightly. He also realized he had been moved again. Now he seemed to be back in his former position of standing, arms and legs chained apart tightly. Although Quatre wondered why he had been moved again he received no answer. He paused in his musings as footsteps approached.

They came from his side instead of his front, so he assumed they had turned him 90 degrees for some reason. A small voice whispered to him that it would be rather easier for them to rape him in this position, but he pushed that voice away. His body tensed, ready for the blow whenever it was dealt.

It came, as expected. A fist landed solidly on the small of his back, causing Quatre to arch away. By now his Uchuu no Kokoro had given up attempting to send the boy messages of impeding danger. The boy was quite aware of it, and the intense pain that accompanied the danger. And he knew enough to prepare himself for additional pain and torture.

A kick rammed into his side and he gave a tiny whimper of pain. He felt a crack and wouldn't have been surprised to learn he now had a broken rib or two. He had a couple of broken toes already. Why not add broken ribs to the growing list of various injuries?

And it was a rapidly growing list, too. Numerous bruises, burns, and lacerations marred his flesh, showing up brightly against his pale skin. Add to that the swelling caused by the broken bones… The result was not a very flattering picture of Quatre.

Already he knew his first attacker was joined by a second. Soon enough a third joined in. Then came the rest of the gang. Quatre lost count of how many there were as others' body parts came into contact with his. Sometimes they'd swipe at him with a blade, or catch him with a flame.

Ah, new day, new torture. How wonderful.

And today he would die if help didn't arrive before noon.

While in the war he had known that he was expendable. He had become a soldier, a person who risked his life willingly and daily. He had been willing to kill himself if it would bring about peace to the colonies and Earth. After the war had ended he had begun to value his life a little more. And he wondered what it would be like to live as a person with feelings, not a soldier.

But if help refused to come, he would never know. He would never again know what it was like to live a happy life, never again know the meaning of having fun and just relaxing. Quatre knew that, as a soldier, he was not expected to have such desires. But the war was over! He should be able to experience those things, like a normal teenaged boy. However, the Fates saw it more amusing to torment him like this, with memories and desires that would never again be his.

So involved was he in his inner thoughts that he hardly noticed when the physical pain ceased. By the time he did notice it was too late.

Quarter gasped as he felt hands groping and fumbling with his belt buckle. No, please Allah no! They couldn't –warm air brushed against bare skin as his pants and boxers were lowered at the same time. The sound of a fly being unzipped reached the boy through a haze of disbelief and terror. Warm hands gripped his hips and held them steady while something hard pressed against his opening.

They were going to rape him.

Tears pricked Quatre's eyes. How could they do this? A high-pitched sound came from the boy's throat. He couldn't help it. They were about to rape him… As if the physical torture hadn't been enough, they had to go and sexually harass him too?

It seemed as if Quatre's thin wail of despair provoked the man standing behind him. Abruptly the boy felt a searing pain in his backside, tearing him apart. He screamed, unable to control even his thoughts. The world faded into fiery pain, red and black and white.

Quatre continued to scream, voice filled with pain, self-loathing, and horror. How long this lasted he could not honestly say. All that existed for him was the disbelief, the pain, the terror, and the awful feeling of degradation. Something incredibly precious had been stolen from him, and there was no way of retrieving it.

He vaguely felt the blood sliding down from his backside, down his legs to stain his paints crumpled around his ankles. Soon however, a welcome numbness crept over his body, blanketing and protecting Quatre from the physical pain. The emotional pain was left alone to torment the poor boy with the realization of what was happening to him. Desperately he tried to ignore the voices that were sneering at him, taunting him. They continued despite the boy's weak protests.

A hand grasped his face and roughly jerked it up. Quatre barely realized when the gag was removed. He continued to scream, not that anyone cared. The blindfold was yanked down. The amount of light pouring into Quatre's eyes all but blinded him. New pain raced along his nerves. He tried to close his eyes against the glare, but someone forced his eyes open, vulnerable to the white light. White was all he could see.

Slowly he began to recover. Although pain still poked at Quatre's eyes, he was able to make out vague shapes at the corners of his vision. Frantically he began to gulp air, impatiently waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the painful amount of light assaulting his eyes.

When he could see somewhat better he looked to the person who still had a firm grip on his chin. Quatre gasped, shock and disbelief showing in his aquamarine eyes. Glittering blue-violet eyes ones gazed back.

Duo.

Another burst of pain broke through the numbness, jolting the boy back to reality. How many times had it been already that he was brought back to the present by pain? It didn't matter. Agony once again consumed Quatre, overcoming the feeble shield he had tried to set up.

Duo smirked, and then crushed his mouth against Quatre's. The Arabian gasped in surprise. Bad move. Duo took advantage of the open mouth and plunged his tongue in, licking and exploring the other's mouth. Only when Quatre seemed ready to faint from lack of air did the longhaired boy back off. He turned his head, spitting onto the ground.

Meanwhile, Quatre had been trapped in his own personal Hell. Nothing seemed to make sense. He was kidnapped, tortured, raped, and then kissed by his –no, not friend. A friend couldn't do this to him. Were the other ex-pilots her too? Had they taken a role in his rape also? Surely not –but Quatre would never had thought Duo would do anything this…insane! What was happening? What had happened to turn his whole world upside down? Was this just some awful bad dream he was trapped in?

If so, he had to wake up soon, safe in his own bed, own house, own world, right? But how could this be merely a dream? Never in his life had Quatre imagined he would dream of being tortured and raped by the other ex-pilots. They were –had been– his only true friends, friends who understood him, cared about him, to some degree. So this had to be some crazy dream, right?

"Nope," Quatre focused on Duo. "This isn't a dream. This is reality."

No! Allah save me! Quatre felt dizzy and numb with dread. When the man behind him released the small boy he barely noticed. His eyes darted around the room, seeing mostly unfamiliar people, until he reached a small group across the room. His friends. No, they were friends no longer. Only enemies could do this to someone they had once known, worked with, spoke with, even spent occasional weekends with.

"Doushite…?" Quatre croaked out, voice feeble and trembling.

"Who told you to speak?" Heero approached, eyes gleaming dangerously. Duo giggled as Heero slapped Quatre hard enough to snap the boy's head to the side.

"Why what? Why're we doing this to ya?" Duo read the affirmation in Quatre's eyes.

"Ch'." Wufei joined the other three. "It was your own fault. You brought this upon yourself. When you are dead justice shall be served!"

"Nani? You guys-" Quatre was interrupted by Duo's wordless shout.

"You're too innocent! Even after the war you're still innocent. Even now you're still innocent… no blood stains your hands, you aren't tainted like me… You're not…affected… Even after I touch you, you aren't infected…" His voice trailed off as he crumpled to the floor, arms hugging his lithe frame as he rocked back and forth.

Heero glanced down at the rocking form of the self-proclaimed Shinigami rocking on the ground, hugging himself. When he looked back up at Quatre the blond boy felt a chill run down his spine. A manic shine brightened the cobalt blue, and something frighteningly close to resembling a smile adorned the mouth, twisting it grosquetely.

"Omae o korosu." There was an almost light tone to those words. Heero seemed too excited at the prospect of killing Quatre for comfort. "Zero showed me one last thing before it crashed. That was you, dying. I was standing over you, looking down. My gun was in my hand." Heero smiled almost wistfully.

"Zero screwed with your brain, Heero." Duo muttered from his position on the floor. "I told you Zero'd make him crazy."

"No! Please don't –Trowa?" Quatre gazed desperately at the tall boy.

One emerald eye glittered, the other hidden by spiky brown bangs. He looked back at Quatre for a moment before looking away. In that moment Quatre had seen hidden desire, deep sorrow, immense self-loathing, and the pain of rejection. Pain Quatre himself had placed there, pain that hadn't faded with the passage of time.

It had been a nice day, sun streaming through the open windows. Quatre had been playing his violin when Trowa entered. He had seemed more guarded and nervous than usual. Quatre had paused to ask what was wrong. Then it happened.

Trowa said he loved Quatre.

Time seemed to freeze. Quatre stared at his taller companion, shocked into silence. Trowa himself seemed extremely uncomfortable and prepared to be put down. However a small spark of hope shone in his eyes. It was a hope Quatre had had to extinguish.

Yes, he loved Trowa, but not in the same way as the emerald-eyed boy said he loved him. All Quatre felt for Trowa was the love of a brother, same as with the other boys. And he had said so. He'd felt bad when Trowa replied with a quiet wakatta, then left. That was the last time Quatre had seen him. There would be no happy yaoi ending to their story.

"Enough! You others, get out!" Wufei ordered the group of followers. "Now justice shall be served! Nataku, give me strength!"

Quatre felt his eyes widen as Wufei raised his katana. Before he could strike, the katana was shot out of his grasp by Heero's gun. Heero was glaring at Wufei, eyes shining unnaturally, a terrifying smile curving his mouth upwards.

"Oh justice will be served all right. However, I shall be the one to exact it."

"Oi, Heero! I wanted to be the one to kill him." Duo whined, producing a metal scythe, wooden handle magnificently carved.

"I'll settle this." Trowa interrupted, pulling his own gun and aiming it at Quatre's heart. There was sorrow and pain in his visible eye, but they were quickly overcome by rage born of that same pain.

"Gomen nasai, Trowa." Quatre found himself saying. "I didn't realize it would hurt you so much."

Trowa's eye widened visible, the narrowed. His finger tightened on the trigger. Quatre closed his eyes, prepared to the final bullet, the shot that would end his life. A shot rang out. Quatre's jaw clenched…

Two sharp cries of pain cut through the air, starling Quatre. The pain was in his shoulder, not his chest as expected. He opened his eyes to see Trowa clutching his right hand, blood dripping into the black steel of the fallen gun. He, along with Duo, Wufei, and Heero, had his eyes trained on the far door. Looking at the door Quatre felt his heart leap with joy at the sight before him.

The entire Magunac core was there, on foot because all the mobile suits had been destroyed along with the war. The 40 men carried rifles, aimed at the four unbound former Gundam pilots. Rashiid's gun was slightly smoking, signifying that he was the one who had shot Trowa. Looking at his 40 saviors, Quatre then remembered his pants and boxers were still around his ankles, the blood from earlier…events drying on his legs. He blushed a furious red.

"Disarm yourselves at once." Rashiid commanded, aiming his gun menacingly at the four boys.

Trowa narrowed his eyes but kicked his gun away from him, toward the 40 older men. He knew what they were capable of if provoked and did not wish to be the object of that attention. Duo also knew what the Magunac forces could do and slid his metal scythe across the floor. Wufei hesitated, unwilling to give up so easily.

Running across the room to the Magunacs Wufei raised his katana. He was remarkably fast and managed to get a slice in before the Magunac he was attacking fired his gun. At point blank the bullet was powerful, its force throwing Wufei away from the man. Weakly he muttered something about injustice and apologized to his dead wife for failing her. He closed dark eyes and didn't move.

Heero had no plans of dropping his beloved gun and leaving him vulnerable to any attack. He seemed determined to make his vision of Quatre lying dead become a reality. He proceeded to empty the entire clip in the general direction of the chained boy.

As soon as he began firing his pistol the Magunacs went into action. Several of them moved to intercept the bullets, while others opened fire on Heero. He was shot in the shoulder, the force of the impact half turning him around. Another bullet caught the Japanese youth in the leg, causing him to fall. Still Heero refused to give up. He launched himself at the gun Trowa had dropped. Bullets hailed around him. It didn't stop the boy. Ever the Perfect Soldier, he ignored the bullets and grasped the gun. He fired at the Magunacs around him, evil smile contorting his face. When the gun clicked empty, Heero again dived, this time for Duo's scythe.

However, Duo was faster. He had gotten to his discarded scythe before Heero. He faced the Japanese boy wielding his scythe dangerously. Heero didn't care. Snarling like a wild animal he attacked Duo. Somehow he knocked out the American and gained control of the scythe. Without hesitating even a fraction of an instant he plunged the bright blade into the braided boy's chest. Duo didn't move again.

He was determined not to get caught, anyone could see that. Perhaps his overly analytical brain told him that he was piteously outnumbered and didn't have much of a chance. In his current state though, that was highly doubtful. Whatever the reason, Heero decided to take action. One instant he was surrounded by Magunacs, still with a death grip on Duo's scythe. A flash of silver, and Heero's head fell to the floor, feral smile still plastered on his face even as his eyes lost their gleam and he died.

Despite the Magunacs' efforts, Quatre had still been shot. Fortunately Heero had not had very good aim when he shot at Quatre, thus no vital parts had been struck. However, one bullet had entered his stomach, and another cutting clean through his side. A bullet had grazed his arm, and many had hit his legs, almost causing Quatre to fall.

After demanding the keys to the handcuffs from Trowa, the only living ex-pilot who had attacked Quatre, the Magunacs unlocked the young master. Gently smiling, Rashiid helped Quatre restore his pants to their proper position. Quatre welcomed the help; Rashiid was like a second father to him.

When he, the Magunacs, and the enslaved Trowa passed through another room, Quatre was shocked. Prone bodies littered the cement floor. They were the ones Wufei had sent away, the ones who had raped him. He shuddered. Did they really deserve to be dead? Even after what they had done Quatre still didn't feel it right that they be dead.

As if sensing the thoughts of the boy he was supporting, Rashiid said, "No, they're not dead. Sleeping gas."

Quatre nodded, much relieved.

He had gotten out alive, survived the lonely days spend in a bed, whether it was his own or a hospital's made no difference. He had sustained many injuries, although many were less serious than he had expected them to be. His ribs were only bruised, not broken, although his toe had been broken. The bullet wounds had healed, leaving only small scars to mark their presence. In the end, the injury that appeared the worst was the scar traveling from his left shoulder to just above his right hip. That scar never healed completely.

Quatre's sisters constantly visited. They genuinely worried about their younger brother. They all had their own lives though, and couldn't stay with him as much as they liked. When they had left him, Quatre found himself surrounded by terrifying memories of all that had happened in the not too distant past.

When he had been released from the hospital his sisters took him to a psychologist to help him deal with his heavy memories. The sessions helped, and soon Quatre could venture out on his own, although he rarely did so. He was able to stay out of the awful memories' grip as long as there was light. Now he even slept with the lights on in his room.

Realizing they could help Quatre no longer, the Magunacs reluctantly left, headed back to their home at last. Before they left, Quatre asked how they had known about his imprisonment. Rashiid replied that he had been with some of Quatre's sisters when they received the strange message about the hostage.

Rashiid himself was extremely reluctant to leave Quatre, but the young Arabian waved him off, saying Rashiid hadn't seen his hometown for ages and that he would be fine. The older man finally agreed to taking a vacation, although he was determined to get back to the young master as soon as he was able.

Thus Quatre was alone in his big house when the power went out and the memories came flooding back. No one heard him scream.

~~~

Rashiid entered the house that belonged to Quatre. It was early, but he was worried about the young boy. After all that had happened he shouldn't be left alone.

He traveled through the big house, expertly navigating the location of Quatre's room. Knocking, he was puzzled when he received no response. Usually Quatre was awake by now…

Carefully the tall man pushed open the door He was greeted by the sight of Quatre huddled in the corner, shaking terribly. When he saw Rashiid the boy began to scream shrilly, eyes large and wild in his pale face.

Rashiid wasted no time in calling one of Quatre's sisters. He tried to calm the nearly hysterical Quatre, but anytime he approached the boy he shrank back, screaming louder. Just as Rashiid was tiring of this a few men burst in, took one look at the now hysterical Quatre, then strapped him down to a cart.

The sister Rashiid had called was crying downstairs. She explained they were taking her brother to an asylum where they could hopefully help him. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this. After all, he seemed to be truly getting better for a while…

~~~

White walls. White, soft walls. So unlike those walls and floors that haunted his memories. These walls were now his whole world, along with his new white jacket. The arms were forever wrapped about him in a perpetual hug. He had the feeling they were supposed to keep him from getting out, but they had obviously not been made for a former Gundam pilot. Quatre could get out of them easily enough.

He perked his ears. Someone was coming. Judging by the footsteps it was more than one person. He strained to hear the words coming through the padding of his world.

"I'm terribly sorry, but no one is allowed to see Mr. Winner until he has improved."

"So it's true. He really has gone insane?"

Quatre frowned at the words. He was not insane. He was perfectly fine. They were the ones who were insane if they thought him insane.

But then why the padded room? Why the hugging jacket? Why wasn't he allowed to see other people besides the old nurse who force-fed him the food? Was he really insane? Is that why he was here? Because he was insane?

No! He was not insane! He couldn't be! Insane people were crazy, insane people made no sense. He wasn't crazy, and he made perfect sense. He was not insane.

The sound of a key in the lock caught Quatre's attention. Food time! He could ask the nurse of if was insane. When he voiced his question she merely laughed.

"Yep honey, yur insane, jus like evrybody else in dis nut house." She went on cutting Quatre's food.

Her ease at saying he was insane infuriated him. No, he was not insane! Before he quite realized what he was doing he had gotten out of his strait jacket and tackled the old nurse. He grabbed the knife.

"I am not insane." He calmly intoned as he rammed the blade home.

Quatre blinked. What just happened? Did he really just…yes. He had just murdered an innocent woman. Allah, I must really be insane, Quatre thought, horrified. I can't let anything like this happen again. I must stop it.

Before he could back down, Quatre sliced his wrists. Not just cut the skin. He really sliced his wrists, almost clean through. He fell to the ground, pain numbing his mind.

Yes, he deserved that pain. He deserved every drop of it. He had been the cause of all this. He had caused Heero's instability, Trowa's pain, Duo's anger, Wufei's strange obsession. He had caused his sisters' suffering, Rashiid's worry, his father's death.

Now he must kill himself, rid the world of his evil.

Quatre watched the blood flow from his wrists, staining his white padded cell, the puddle of red was growing, tainting everything it touched. Duo had been wrong; he was tainted, tainted beyond belief. He would leave the earth and colonies, so he would not contaminate anyone else. The end was approaching.

He felt himself drowning, spiraling down into the void, dark as obsidian. Never again would he walk the earth or the colonies, never again be the cause of someone's pain. He would free the universe as he freed himself…

Then he realized his folly. He would not free anyone with his death. He felt ashamed. He had taken a path to unknown places, and couldn't turn back. Only now did he realize it would cause pain to those back in the mortal realm, and endless torment for him.

He fell into oblivion, the darkness swallowing him whole. He was dead but had not achieved anything for his suffering but more pain for those dear to him and for himself.

This thought would torment him for the rest of eternity.

~ Owari~