Preventer Phoenix: Part One

Preventer Phoenix: Part One

TBA

*AC 198*

Disclaimer: Oops! I forgot the disclaimer in the prologue. Hey I'm new at this, I have an excuse. Anyway Gundam Wing belongs to its very lucky creators, not me. At least not yet. But more on my evil master plan later. For now I'm just a poor high school student, if you sue me all you're gonna get is loose change and pocket lint. Suria, Saul, Rowan, Gabriel and the Giotto family are my creations but if you feel the necessity to use them for something just ask me first.

Notes: I'm really afraid that I made Catherine look weak in this part; I think I made her too emotional. I'm trying my hardest to avoid rampant OOCness. Oh well, tell me what you think about it or anything else or just bitch at me for my glaring grammatical errors-whatever you want. E-mail me at kali296@hotmail.com I'm attention starved and I crave validation for my existence. That said, enjoy!

PS Italics show flashback

The room was nearly pitch black, save for the unhealthy gleam from a single computer screen. The light was enough to illuminate the bodies of three young men in a strange uniform sprawled on the floor. Suria Giotto sat in the darkness of the small room, her face sickly looking in the faint glow of the computer screen in front of her. Fingers flying across the keyboard, her eyes remained locked on the screen, bobbing over the fleeting columns of numbers, searching for a pattern. Her fingers stopped their frantic movement as a smile spread across her face. A few determined keystrokes later she found herself presented with all the information she was looking for. Instead of popping a disk into the computer Suria sat back and cracked her neck, closing her eyes. When they opened all traces of merriment was gone replaced by a completely focused glare. With that she began to read the information, scrolling the pages down as quickly as she could grasp the words on the screen. Nearly half an hour passed while she sat there motionless save for the infrequent blinking, silently absorbing everything she could get her hands on. Every molecule of her body was tuned into the task at hand, unfortunately her total focus made her forget the outside world, which was about to come crashing back in on her.

"Hey, you in there, why's this door locked?"

"Fuck" Suria whispered, cursing herself for forgetting to keep track of time. She had meant to slip out right before the guard was changed and take advantage of the exhaustion of the soldiers who had been on since dusk. Sadly she had remained engrossed in her work for too long and the replacements for the three men she had killed were already here.

"Hey what's going on in there? My security clearance isn't working. Open this door now, privates!"

'Shit, it had to be a commanding officer' she thought as she hurriedly tried to re-focus on what she was doing. 'I'm so close. I can't just stop now.' She raised her hand to her mouth and began biting her knuckle trying to concentrate even as she heard the man outside calling for others. So close, only a few more minutes and she would have everything she needed to know…but if she didn't get out of here alive all she already knew would go to waste. The door was being forced now, a small explosion sounded in the hallway and she heard the locking mechanism release.

"Fuck!" she yelled resignedly and spun quickly in the chair to greet her dozen attackers, gun already in hand. The first three went down easy, taking each one out with a single shot to the forehead. Unfortunately she was now out of bullets, the other three having been used to kill the guards on duty last night. Angrily, she simply threw the now useless weapon into the crowd of soldiers. The idiots were all trying to press into the tiny room at once causing great confusion. This disorder was in her favor and she took full advantage of it by running full speed into the mass, shocking quite a few as she did so. Letting her long legs carry her she flew down the narrow corridor, only half aware of the sirens echoing across the entire compound. Gunshots followed her hitting the walls with a barrage of bullets and spraying her with a mixture of paint and plaster. She hardly felt the few lucky shots that hit her, ignoring the blood that was now seeping through her jacket at the right shoulder and lower on her right arm. A third shot caught her hard in the upper chest as she rounded a corner. The bullet passed straight through as her eyes went wide in surprise and pain. Seconds later she burst out into to pink light of dawn, hand clutching her wound. 'A few more feet and I'll be safely in the forest where at least I'll have a chance.' The doors flew open behind her once more and the loud popping of gunfire filled her mind once more. Panting heavily, she entered the dense trees and almost immediately the firing stopped. Still she did not slow for nearly ten more minutes she ran as fast as her quickly failing body could. When she finally stopped she leaned against a tree and pulled a communicator from her pocket. Shakily she punched a few buttons and slid down the tree to sit at the bottom, her blood leaving a dark trail on the bark.

"This is Preventer Phoenix calling Preventer Water" she said her voice strong despite her condition.

"What's wrong?" a concerned woman's voice called back. Suria suddenly went into a coughing spasm, her whole body jerking, aggravating the wounds, which had suddenly become very painful. When she removed her hand from her mouth a sickening mixture of spit and blood covered her palm.

"Sally, I need help and I need it fast."

* * * * * * Trowa lay on his back sleeping in the semi-darkness of his trailer; or rather he pretended to lie there sleeping. In reality he was merely waiting for a decent hour to leave his mostly unfurnished room. Sighing to himself he turned on to his side and glanced out the single window at the slight lightening in the Eastern sky. It was five thirty, maybe six in the morning and he hadn't slept at all. God, he was exhausted and yet for some unseen reason he couldn't seem to sleep. 'Yeah right' he thought to himself bitterly 'You know exactly why you can't sleep.' Fleeting images entered his mind, the deaths of hundreds of men, all his fault… Restlessly he turned over once more and punched his pillow hard letting go of some of his emotions with that hopeless gesture. His nights were filled by these memories, if it wasn't death attacking his subconscious it was vague memories of unbearable cold and loneliness, the emptiness of his drift through space. The nightmares were unbearable, it seemed like every time he closed his eyes those unbidden memories filtered into his brain.

"Every goddamn time I close my eyes …" Trowa was surprised to hear his own whisper break the silence weighing heavily on the room. The sleepless nights were beginning to catch up with him; he hadn't realized he had even spoken aloud. 'I need rest. I need to be able to close my eyes without seeing another helpless man die!'

A sharp buzz shook him from his thoughts instantly, dispelling all the sleepy fog that filled his brain. Swinging his legs out of bed he quickly strode barefoot across the cool floor to the phone and flicked the screen on to be greeted by a familiar woman's face framed in honey colored hair. He sat before the screen in a while she began to speak, his warm bare skin shrieking in protest as his back came in contact with the freezing metal chair.

" Hello Trowa, it's been a while." Sally Po looked at the shirtless Gundam pilot as he settled into a chair before the phone. She studied his handsome face for a sign of, well anything; Trowa wasn't exactly the most open person in the world. No luck there, his beautiful green eyes were devoid of emotion as usual, not even a flicker of recognition crossed them.

" What's happened?" Trowa dispassionate reply filtered through her hand held device, crackling slightly.

" No need for pleasantries then I take it. I need your help; you're the only Preventer we have in the area right now and I honestly don't know if I could trust many others with this information anyway. We had an operative retrieving information from a newly established terrorist base just outside the city of Seville, where you are currently located, correct?" He nodded and waited for her to finish. " She got the information alright but was wounded badly during her escape. She was able to describe her wounds to me before I left her, she needs immediate medical attention. Three gunshot wounds: two to the upper right arm and another one that slammed right through the left side of her chest. It's high but it may have hit something vital. Her location is somewhat vague; she headed almost directly east for approximately one mile from the base. I'll transfer those coordinates to you now…" There was a brief silence as Trowa mentally recorded the numbers. " The information she has is vital to maintaining peace between the Earth and the colonies, please for the sake of the peace we all fought so hard to protect, help her." Sally pleaded with the boy she had known for the past two and a half years, only too aware that she sounded like she was begging. He looked her in the eyes and she was once again startled by the emptiness she saw.

"Will they be looking for her as well?" Trowa's monotone crackled trough her communicator once more and Sally felt relief spread through her. If Phoenix died she would never be able to forgive herself.

"Of course, but I trust your skills are far above theirs, they won't get to her before you do." She smiled at him warmly feeling a depth of gratitude toward him. " Her name is Phoenix. Thank you."

"It's my job." Trowa reached out of sight and her screen winked out into darkness. " I meant it" Sally sighed to no one in particular, staring at the blank piece of metal and plastic in her hand.

Trowa dressed quickly and jumped onto his motorcycle, glad for the speed of the vehicle as he sped further east of the city deeper into the dense forest where the circus was camped, heading for the dying girl. * * * * * *

She couldn't remember how long she had been sitting there beneath the tree; time passed strangely when you slipped in and out of consciousness without warning. Only her ragged breathing interrupted the silence of the forest. The rasping echoed and filled her ears, making her feel that with each breath was brought closer to her death. The ancient tree cast shadows across her calm face as she turned it upward to catch the rays of the steadily rising sun. This tree had been here for hundreds of years before she was born and would be here long after she was gone. In the eyes of this tree her life had been only a blink of an eye, without the slightest impact. It was surprising how looking at a simple thing like a tree could give a person perspective on their own life.

Suria's head slipped forward again to hit her chest; she was too weak to hold it up anymore. It was even harder to breathe from this position, her lungs labored hard as her eyes slid easily shut. She thought she heard the roar of a far off engine through her cotton filled ears but it disappeared as soon as she was able to identify it. Her hand slid to the last weapon she had, drawing the delicate but deadly knife from her waistband. She wasn't going to slip quietly into the darkness, not without a fight anyway. It took an incredible amount of effort to complete that motion, pain lancing through her body. A little more blood seeped through her shirt staining her black hair a dark purple-red. Strands of her hair stuck to the sap-covered tree as it bled slowly with her.

* * * * * *

Trowa cut the engine and leapt off his gleaming machine, leaving it standing in the center of the small clearing and began walking toward the coordinates Sally had given him with a small bag in hand. After a few minutes of searching he found what he was looking for, a telltale drop of blood, followed by others, leading him to the girl she had called Phoenix. The treasure at the end of the hunt didn't look too good. She was partially propped up on a thick tree trunk, her head resting on her chest. Her shining hair fell across her face thus hiding it from his sight. Her long legs in their baggy khaki pants were splayed out in the early morning sunshine, her gray-green tank top and loose preventer's jacket stiff and dark with dried blood. He made his way over to where she sat, dropping to his knees in front of her to gain better access to her wounds. When he silently lifted the sheet of hair that hid her face he was startled by the beauty and youth he found, it took him a moment to remember what he was doing. Leaning over her incredibly still body, he reached a hand to slide the jacket from her frame.

Suddenly something sharp pressed through the fabric of his shirt and settled on the hard muscle of his stomach. He returned his eyes to the girl's face without letting go of the jacket. Her half closed ferocious amber eyes met his as she spoke.

"Who are you?" Her voice was weak but demanding as she put a little more pressure on the knife, scratching him enough to draw blood. She was proving to him that she would use it.

"If you must call me something, my name is Trowa Barton," he replied in his deep baritone.

"Who sent you here?"

"Sally Po." She relaxed instantly, pulling her arm back and dropping her knife on the ground. He could see how weak she was, the labor of holding the knife to his body was enough to quicken her shallow breathing. She swallowed hard as he finished peeling off her stained jacket and got a clear look at the damage. Neither of the two shots to her upper right arm was life threatening but a bullet was still embedded in one. The third was a complete mess. At least the bullet had come all the way through, meaning it wasn't lodged in a vital organ but from the way she was breathing she may have had a punctured lung. Though by no means a surgeon, Trowa's medical knowledge was a little known fact. Trowa slipped his hand into the bag he brought with him and extracted several bandages and a small bottle of antiseptic. Without warning her he dosed the raw hole with its contents, drawing a yelp and harsh intake of air from his patient. When he looked up he saw her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth thrown open in anguish, her breath becoming hoarse panting. He continued in his task cleaning and bandaging all her wounds.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice tiny now, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes remained shut, her chest barely rising with each ragged breath.

"We have to get you to a hospital, I'm no doctor." Trowa stood and bent down to help her to her feet.

"No!" The volume and intensity of her voice startled several birds that shot into the air like rockets. Her golden eyes snapped open and she struggled to raise herself off the ground without his help, pushing him off of her. She stood in front of him hunched slightly for a moment before composing herself enough to draw herself to her full height. To his surprise she was staring him right in the eyes, her gleaming, desperate gaze unnerving. " When they don't find a body out here they'll look in the hospitals first. I can't go there, I'll be an easy target strapped to a hospital bed."

"You'll most likely die if you don't get some decent medical attention."

"Please." Her voice was soft and childlike, pleading; it didn't suit her at all. Still if she was intent on this Trowa wouldn't force her into anything. He looked her in the eye and saw her desperation but also her strength, maybe she would live through this. Her eyes were incredible he felt himself getting lost, drowning in a sea of molten gold. They stood there a moment longer communicating with their eyes, each sizing the other up, when a snapping twig interrupted them.

Trowa wheeled around to see four men in unfamiliar uniform all pointing guns at them. Mentally chastising himself for losing his focus he sent his body into action before the gunfire began. Hoping to draw their fire from the injured Phoenix, he darted to the right and launched himself into the air, traveling in a graceful arc while spinning over their attacker's heads. A trail of bullets followed him, shattering the serenity of the forest. He landed behind them kicked the nearest man's gun into the air before sending him to the ground with an efficient punch. The man's gun fell perfectly into his outstretched hand and the other three were down before they knew what hit them. For insurance he shot the last man where he lay in the grass.

"Thank you, again," came the voice from the other side of the clearing, "You've been hit." She pointed to his left leg where blood was indeed beginning to blossom, her hand shaking despite her conscious effort to still it. She walked toward him slowly, dragging her bloodstained jacket on the ground behind her, each step a monumental effort. She reached out for him and fell against him, her eyes closed as darkness took over. He hugged her to his body and lifted her off the ground to lie in his arms. She made no movement except for the almost unperceivable rise and fall of her chest as he walked quickly to his parked motorcycle. It took a moment for him to arrange the unconscious girl behind him so she would stay firmly in place while he rode. The gunshots would draw others quickly so Trowa moved as rapidly as he could without hurting her anymore. With some fear he saw that the bandages on her chest were already getting pink. He sat in front of her and drew her body forward to lean against him, pulling her arms around his waist, her hand still clutching her coat as if her life depended on it, as he started the machine and flew from the forest toward home.

* * * * * *

Catherine was roaming around the camp with purpose, searching for any sign of her little brother. So far her hunt had been fruitless, no one had seen him all day. He left without notice, again! Sometimes he aggravated her so much… yet in the end she could never remain angry with him. She should have gotten used to his frequent disappearances during the wars, but there was something about this morning that scared her more than any of the others. Peace meant there was no reason for him to just leave like this, if he was gone again…was the peace only a memory, too? Call it women's intuition if you will, but Cathy knew something was wrong from the moment she woke up that morning. Awaking from a fitful sleep in a cold sweat she had dashed from her bed to pound on Trowa's door, calling to him frantically. When she realized he wasn't there her fear grew but at the same time she was able to regain some of her sanity, calming down enough to note his bike was missing too.

"Hey, Catherine! You lookin' for Trowa?" One of her burly colleagues yelled to her from the entrance of the big tent. He was too far in the shadows for her to make an ID, but judging from his physique, or lack of it, he was one of the animal trainers her brother worked with for the lion act.

"Yes. Have you seen him this morning?"

" He blew out of here on that bike before dawn, passed my trailer and woke me up. Damn motorcycle. I can hear that fucking thing halfway across camp. Hasn't shown up to go over the act yet either, not that he needs the practice. Never seen that kid make a mistake, he's amazing…hey! Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. I've just got some things to do, especially if my baby brother decided to take a day off!" she tossed causally over her shoulder, smiling as she strode away from the man quickly. It took all her self-control to not break into a dead out sprint for home. She had stopped listening when he told her that Trowa had left without telling anyone. These were his old tricks all right; her stomach twisted itself into a knot of dread and she felt silent tears begin sliding down her face. She finally saw Trowa's trailer and ran the final distance to it, ignoring shouts from her co-workers. She reached the door and jerked it open hard enough for the old hinges to shriek in protest and shut it behind her with a reverberating slam that shook the tiny room.

"Less than a year," she whispered sliding down the door to sit in a ball on the floor hugging herself. She sat there for a minute trying to control the sobs that shook her lean body. "Why Trowa?" she asked herself quietly between gasping cries. "Why do you have to involve yourself again? Haven't you already done you part? When will it be someone else's turn?!" Pointless questions, every one of them. She had thought them a thousand times before, waiting, praying, hoping against hope that he would be lucky again and come home to her alive and not in a casket. Or worse that she wouldn't even get that, a final farewell to the only family she had in this world. But feeling this way would do nothing for her quiet brother, she would remain strong for him.

Taking a shaky breath she stood and wiped the tears from her eyes. She stumbled over to the wall to look in the small mirror that served as the only decoration on the walls of her brother's room and surveyed the damage her crying jag had caused. Her eyes were red rimmed and her cheeks showed visible tear trails but otherwise there was no evidence. She plastered on a fake but convincing grin and ran a hand through her short curls. Straightening her t-shirt, she turned and took a deep breath moving to the door, when it burst in suddenly and knocked her back against Trowa's bed in shock. She smiled in relief and reached out for the tall figure in the doorway, when she realized with sudden clarity that her brother was not alone.

Trowa stood in the doorway, a bloody girl lying in his arms, her head limply rolling against his chest as Trowa steeped toward Catherine.

"Oh my God," she breathed looking at the girl while her brother laid her out on his bed gently. Her early relief at having Trowa back was replaced with guilt when she saw her young face. The girl was way too pale. "Trowa…what the hell happened to her?" The pretty young woman reminded Catherine of Trowa's friend Heero when her brother had brought him home years before. Catherine reached out a shaking hand to touch the girl's face but Trowa grasped her wrist and pulled her around to face him before she made contact.

"Get Rowan."

"I don't think Rowan can handle this, Trowa. She needs to be in a hospital where they can look after her. We just don't have the equipment."

" Catherine, we don't have a choice." Trowa's voice remained unfeeling but his face softened considerably. "Please Cathy."

"Alright. I'll hurry." Catherine called her consent over her shoulder as she sprinted for the door, running hard to Rowan's trailer. Rowan was their doctor, nurse, physical therapist, midwife and general miracle worker rolled into one. Everyone in the circus counted on the woman to cure just about any aliment they contracted. When Catherine had returned with an amnesiac Trowa, Rowan had done her best to help him and succeeded in treating all his physical injuries, lamenting that she could do nothing for his shattered mind. She had yet to let anyone down but this was way more than a virus or a broken arm. And that poor girl, there was just too much blood… Catherine erased the images from her mind and ran on until she reached Rowan's home.

"Rowan! Rowan, I need your help!" Catherine threw open the door without waiting for a reply and found herself looking down at the short elderly woman who stared at her grimly with deep blue eyes that radiated intelligence. Rowan's long gray hair was pulled back from her strong, wrinkled face and twisted into a bun. The lines on her face were ancient; they looked as though they'd been carved there, deep and painful.

"Catherine I expect better manners from you!" she scolded but there was concern behind the sternness of her voice. "Child, what's wrong? That brother of yours hurt himself?"

"No," Catherine panted leaning on the doorframe. "It's a girl he brought back." Rowan raised an eyebrow questioningly at this comment, but Catherine ignored the old woman's implication. "She's bleeding all over the place and…Oh, God Rowan; you have to help her quick!" Catherine grabbed the old woman's arm and felt tears forming in her eyes once more.

" Hush girl! I have to get my things. What happened to her?"

Catherine regained her composure, followed the woman inside and told her what she remembered.

"She had a lot of blood on her clothes but Trowa bandaged her wounds pretty well from what I could see. He didn't tell me how she got that way…which probably means she was involved in something nasty. Gunshot wounds, maybe. Probably. She was pale, too pale." Cathy shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

"Lets hurry back then. I presume she's in your brother's trailer?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Let's hope Trowa did a good job."

The two women made they way to Trowa's trailer, going much slower this time around, Rowan leaning heavily on Catherine's arm. Almost bitterly and certainly not for the first time that day Catherine found herself wishing that the camp was less spread out.

* * * * * *

Suria let herself become enveloped in the warm healing glow of her dream world, slipping in and out of reality with ease. She scarcely noticed when the dull roar of the motorcycle beneath her stopped abruptly. She barely felt her heavy body being lifted painfully off the machine by strong arms, resting her head against a broad chest. The distant voices echoed and became distorted when they entered her ears, sounding as though they came from very deep under water. They seemed to be arguing: terse words and shocked exclamations. Waving, deformed faces swam into view and became sharp before receding back into the distance: a beautiful auburn haired girl, the boy who saved her. All that was happening to her body took a backseat to what was happening in her mind.

A small girl lay on a metal table in the center of the room, tubes and wire running from her body to various bits of machinery lined up against the walls. She stared silently at the television screen imbedded in the white painted ceiling, blinking slowly and unconsciously wetting her lips with her small pink tongue while images flashed across her line of vision. Her soft black hair glistened in the harsh light and her golden eyes shone unhealthily. At ten, Suria Giotto was easily recognizable.

Gabriel stared at the tiny girl from a glass windowed control booth fifty feet to Suria's right with glazed dark blue eyes, trying to keep himself awake. He wasn't exactly succeeding. His dark haired head slipped forward and crashed into his chest, spilling his coffee down his shirt in the process.

"Shit" Gabriel yelled in pain as he jerked awake. Suria burst into laughter, her youthful crystal voice twinkling through the speakers mounted close to overhead.

"Shut up Suria!" Gabriel spat out half angrily, half jokingly. He was happy to hear her laughter; sometimes the sweet girl was far too quiet for her own good but when she was in a good mood the child was a joy to be with.

"Wake up Gabe. You're supposed to be watching me, not sleeping off your hangover."

Gabriel smiled and put his now empty coffee cup down on the control board in front of him. " Pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing. Watch the screen not me. I want a list of the every fifteenth image shown in the last five minutes. And I don't have a hangover!"

"It's too easy, Gabe. Challenge me already!"

"Do it."

"Blue car; duck; AK-47; fire truck; gattling gun; the L-3 colony cluster; plastic explosives; silver knitting needle and white yarn; color coded map of the United States; my brother Guido on a horse; for some random reason the duck again; red dice reading five and two; a red haired girl in a yellow dress with a black cat; an amethyst crystal on a green table top; an old woman's corpse in a black body bag zippered to the chin- natural death."

" You're getting forty-five images a minute, are you doing all right?"

"I'm fine. Give me at least sixty."

" You've been here for twelve hours, and you haven't missed one yet, do you really want to mess up your streak? Your readout is off the chart; brain activity is… damn…I've never seen anything like this. You've got an impressive record going."

" They don't call it a photographic memory for nothing. No one can touch my record, I'm beating my personal best."

" You're insane." Gabe sighed into the microphone attached to the wall, smiling at the crazy girl.

"And that's why you love me!"

"No I love you because you're the only kid here who can speak to me in English." He reached over to change the rate at which the images were flashed and set it to show seventy a minute.

"Some of the other's can, we just like to hear you butcher the Italian language."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"Okay give me every seventeenth image flashed since I spilt my coffee."

" Elderly Hispanic priest: close-up, crying; blond girl in a pink prom dress; sniper rifle with laser sight, nice piece; dried daisies in a cut crystal vase; orange lava lamp, groovy" she flashed him a peace sign before rattling on "the Sistine Chapel from the inside; black bear; my grandmother at sixteen; mobile suit carrier; four dead bodies three men one women, shot through the forehead at point blank range. We're heavy on the dead bodies tonight aren't we?"

" It's three in the morning." He blinked as he checked her responses. Perfect. He expected nothing less from the girl, but sometimes it still shocked him that a child the same age as his own son could be so old in her mind. It was sad really. She was so gifted and yet he knew as he glanced sadly into her wise eyes, she had no future. And it was at least partially his fault.

"Well you spend twelve hours strapped to a cold metal table staring at a tv screen and see if you care."

" I may not be on a table, but I've been here as long as you."

" But you get coffee, the magical stuff child genius's dreams are made of."

"Which reminds me I'm out, and I'm tired, so it's time for some caffeine. I'll be back."

He saluted her prone body and walked out of the room with a sharp militaristic turn. He never noticed the coffee that had spilt onto his control board and was slowly creeping down into the delicate machinery below the metal surface.

* * * * * *

Rowan and Catherine stumbled into the room and were greeted by the sight of Trowa removing the last of the bandages from the girl's wounds. Rowan took a deep breath and stepped over to the small, still unmade bed.

"Tell me what happened to her," the regal old woman commanded, the power in her voice enough to make Trowa reluctantly answer.

"Three gunshot wounds: two to the right arm and one to the upper left side of her chest. The second shot on the arm still has a bullet inside and the one to the chest could be life threatening." He moved away from the young woman and Rowan stepped up, but she stopped him mid step by placing a firm hand in the middle of his chest.

"How?" Her eyes blazed into his, trying to see into them for a clue, but the iron curtain had already slammed down. He was unreadable. She took her hand way and allowed the bay to pass, expecting him to leave the room and take Catherine with him. To her surprise he stopped and picked a rumpled piece of clothing off the floor and went to sit in the trailer's single chair.

"What are you doing?" Catherine asked Rowan's question for her. Trowa refused to answer yet again, silently continuing to move through the jacket's pockets.

"Humph" Rowan turned her back on the boy and focused her attention on the work that lay ahead of her. Catherine had been right, this girl of Trowa's was in serious trouble, and from the way her skin glimmered slickly with sweat and her eyes moved violently behind her clenched lids she was likely suffering. Biting her lip in a way that made her seem years younger, Rowan raised a pair of surgical scissors and began to cut away the remnants of the girl's bloody shirt. Looking over her shoulder she called to the siblings, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"I'm going to need your help."

* * * * * *

Suria hummed to herself in the cavernous room, enjoying the way her voice echoed off the walls. The flashing images were of little consequence right now; while Gabe was gone she didn't even bother to look. She tested the bonds on her arms and ankles, finding that Gabe had not done a very good job fastening her to the table. Compressing one tiny hand into a slim pointed shape, she slid it from beneath the metal and set about first releasing her other wrist, then her slim ankles. She sat cross-legged on the cold table top, slowly massaging the life back into her frozen joints. God this was boring.

Sighing she cracked her neck and stretched out her cramped limbs and leapt gracefully to the floor. She then tore the sticky probes from her forehead, arms, and chest almost violently. The small ten-year-old walked around the edges of the room examining the expensive equipment lined up there. Her eyes flew over the machinery, mentally checking off what each measured: brain activity, heart rate, blood pressure, even one that measured the exact length and width of her brain waves. Then out of the corner of her eye she caught something. A single tendril of silvery smoke drifted up in the control room, spiraling around before creeping out of sight.

The curious child moved closer to the plate glass separating her from the room, trying to see in.