By Famira Damaris
Disclaimer: I own nothing, much less any rights to any anime
series including Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing. Sure wish I did though. Man,
I could actually buy stuff....wow. Not those weakling things anymore,
actual
stuff! Can you imagine that? But I do own the rights to this
plot, that's the least I can say.
Author's Note: This is the second chapter (I'm the only one
that couldn't figure that one out e_e). Brackets stand for thoughts, \'s
stand for remembering feelings or bits of conversations, {'s stand for
electronic stuff like P.A systems. Also, this fiction attempts to show
how no one is perfect, and show that the relationship between Quatre and
Trowa isn't spontaneous, that Trowa/Nanishi might have some dark thoughts
regarding it. This isn't really an action story, so I have a hard time
doing the action parts when I think I'm better at the little mind things
than this. ~_~; Quatre acts sort of weird here (yes, I KNOW he's supposed
to be kicking the bucket, but this is a flashback [and there's gonna be
a lot of them, so nyah! :P]), but Trowa acts far stranger in the third
chapter. Thanks for reading! ^_^ (*muttering* I can't believe people actually
said positive things about something I wrote.*huddling in the corner*)
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Alpha Target
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It was born to me of things
that are not of this land,
of kingdoms and kingdoms lost
that I had and I lost,
of all things living
that I have seen die
of all that was mine
and went from me.
- Gabriela Mistral "Land of Absence"
--------------------------------
Chapter 2 – Down Memory Lane
AC 198, November 12
L4 Colony, Winner Residential Estate
"Trowa? Trowa, where're you?"
I turned the page of the thick paperback book I had been reading idly. I was sitting in a well-lit study on the first floor of the Winner estate in the Colony, curled up comfortably against the sill of the window. There were two Winner estates in existence that I could recall, one on Earth and here up in the L4 Colony, but on Earth, it was warmer; the weather wasn't artificial, created by the weather generators that were installed in every Colony. Even though I myself was Colony-born, I generally liked any thing the Earth atmosphere threw at me in terms of weather. At least it was all real, not recycled and decided on a weather controller's whim. Sunlight from the giant panes circling the Colony was spilling across the pages, as I continued reading.
"Trowa?"
Finally, I looked up. Quatre's voice was closer, and I turned toward the open door of the study, stretching out lanky legs that were tingling with the beginning of cramps. Whenever Quatre went looking for me, he usually didn't expect me to shout my location, and so I didn't – he would usually just wander about the quaint mansion until he found me. Quatre's steps drew close, and the floor of the hallway just outside of the study creaked. A blond hair poked in, peeking around the doorframe. Aquamarine fixed with my olive ones, the Arabian giving a small grin.
"So there you are. I was looking all over for you," Quatre entered the room, glancing about. The study was shaped like a rectangle, dominated mostly by the wide windows. I studied him as he had regarded the room. He had discarded his usual outfit, replacing it with a simple scarlet sweater over casual black slacks – which, I had to note to my mental self, looked very nice on him. His bright eyes returned to me, with that expression that he blessed only me with. I felt a shiver of warmth race up my spine, suppressed it as best I could before Quatre would notice anything abnormal in my behavior.
"Were you?" I asked, lowering the half-shut book in my hands, giving Quatre my full attention.
"Yeah." Quatre crossed the room, over the soft Persian rug, and sat down on the windowsill's seat next to me. His very movements were graceful, his unconscious gestures beautiful. I felt my heart thudding, racing in my chest. This felt…right. So right. Quatre continued, "All over. I'd thought you'd left or something." He snuggled up against me, leaning on my shoulder. I froze with indecision. How should I respond? Return the affection? I struggled with my choices, and I ended up only relaxing my muscles at his contact. My heart was threatening to pound itself out of my ribcage.
"I didn't," I said.
"I know. You said yourself you wouldn't leave me without telling me," Quatre closed his eyes. He looked so at peace, his fine golden hair tickling my cheek. I started to raise my hand to stroke his hair, hesitated, and then helplessly dropped it. Quatre, unaware of the pause, opened his eyes, glancing up at me.
"I have to apologize, Trowa. I've had almost no free time, what with the speech preparations and the Colony projects," Quatre murmured lazily, the sunlight making his movements slow and sleepy, "I'm not sure accepting this responsibility was the best idea."
"What do you mean?"
Quatre blushed, "It's just that…I'd…never mind, it's not important."
"What were you going to say, Quatre?" I pressed gently.
"I'd like to get to…know you better," Quatre replied slowly–why do you look so guilty?– and he didn't quite meet my gaze, "I…feel that it's good to be true to one's feelings."
I made no answer, and it was obvious that Quatre hadn't been expecting one. He turned his head, pressing his face into my shoulder. His words were muffled, but still coherent. Dust motes drifted silently along the shafts of light streaming in through the windowpanes, dancing in and out of the shadows. We sat together in comfortable silence for several long minutes, before Quatre spoke up again.
"I have to catch the next flight to Earth," he said. I felt a chill brush across the back of my neck as I looked down at him. He had his eyes closed again, relaxed, and had that quiet expression that reminded me of one dead. The thought of Quatre gone jolted me with a sharp, surprisingly painful pang, and the urge to crush him to my chest was strong.
But I made no such gesture.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Los Angeles, in the United States," he replied. He was so warm. Not cold. Not like the dead. Not at all like the dead.
"In California, right?"
"Yeah – you've certainly reviewed your geography," humor colored his voice, as he went on, holding up a finger, "The United States is the only country with states in the World Nation today. Each state could be an individual country in its own right – there's been at least one war over this, I think."
"The Civil War, wasn't it? I always thought there was strength in numbers – one would think that the states would rather be as one instead of a mass of countries." I remarked, knowing I was sidetracking the conversation. [I'd rather talk about this than Quatre leaving again]
Quatre shifted, and I silently supported him with my shoulder, "I agree. If all goes well, we won't have to worry about power struggles popping up again. I'll be leaving once the Earth completes its rotation and the Colony is in line with North America. Less distance to cover and less jet lag for me."
The corners of my mouth quirked up in a small grin. Quatre with jet lag wasn't the most pleasant person to be with, though I did find it amusing - Quatre would eat whatever was in front of him, and start snoring quietly in a meeting over the state of the World Nation, walk into doors, or just say the strangest things spontaneously. During these times when the poor Arabian's biological clock was suffering, I did what I could to limit the "damages". Stop him from eating a napkin on accident, give him a soft jab in side with my elbow to wake him up in the meetings, try to not get run over by him sleepwalking when I was heading toward the bathroom at night – this I did with no complaint, though he certainly did complain when he was awake about his jet lag. He would soon readjust and be back to his normal self in a few days. Still, I was concerned for him. I had a right to be, didn't I? I definitely believed I was his friend; at least I regarded myself as so. [But you could be much more, if you could decide for once what to do. Why do you always have to be so indecisive when it comes to matters of the heart, Trowa?] Quatre at least seemed not to be worried, and he harbored no confusion, "Isn't Los Angeles on the dangerous side?"
"A little." Quatre answered softly.
I blurted out the words before thinking of what I was saying:
"I probably should come."
"I'll be safe as long as you're with me," I could feel his mouth lift upward in that beautiful mournful smile through the navy blue material of my turtleneck, "It would be great if you could stay with me forever."
I was startled, but I didn't pull away, or lean into him, instead saying quietly, "I'll be there, Quatre."
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AC 199, January 12
L4 Colony, Pavilion Sector
"{-this is the Pavilion Sector gravity-train through the Erich and Haie districts. Repeat, through Erich and Haie. All passengers bound for Erich and Haie are to board the gravity-train *now*. Have your ticket card out and ready}" The intercom of the platform shut off with a click, the operator apparently not wanting to bother with false pleasantries. For a confused, wrenching moment, I thought Quatre was still sitting next to me – I could almost feel his warm body next to mine. But no – I had only been daydreaming of that seemingly far away memory. I blinked, and stood up as the sleek, bullet-like train creaked to a slow stop in front of the station. [I must have zoned out again. I can't keep doing this – if I'm going to track down this man, I have to focus on business] I forced my emotions into coldness, lest I start sobbing like a little child. The transition from mourning to complete level headedness was quick, and I was partially relieved at this. I needed to be focused on this, I reminded myself again.
I headed toward the gravity-train, – I didn't have much baggage with me, only a slim duffle bag over my shoulder that contained only a copy of the files from Wufei, and the barest necessities. I expected to be in and out of the district in a matter of days – where I was going, one didn't want to spend more time there then was needed.
The Colony was in the first throes of chaos. Quatre had apparently been the closest thing to the leader of this particular cluster, and had been a major influence in raising the general productivity of the people, aiding in the economy. He had virtually no enemies in the political realm, and had done his best to make his fellow citizens in positive spirits. So of course the population of the Colony were going to be *very* angry.
It had only been about a week and a half since Quatre had died. Because of the rising problems on their hands, the Preventers had his body cryogenetically frozen, until they found his assassin. With Quatre gone, the people of the Colony had erupted into daily riots and mass acts of vandalism, nearly everyone shouting for blood against "them", the faceless enemy that had killed a well-liked and respectable leader. The Preventers were barely able to keep the chaos to a minimum, and I took this opportunity to slip away and look for Quatre's assassin myself.
I wanted to be the first to get my hands on the bastard.
I had come up only with dead ends the first week, but yesterday had been different. I had gotten a better description from a metro-track driver, whom I had found out had driven a man of the same appearance from the Erich district (far from the "core" of the Colony) to a stop close to Indigo Falcon. Most of the Colonies in the various clusters were built the same – a ring, with the "core" tube running through the middle. Each was divided into Sectors, much like a pie, each Sector dividing into city-like districts. The inner parts of the Sectors, near the core, were generally for the middle to upper class. Two gravity-train tracks connected the inner rim with the outer rim, the network running first through all the outer rim districts and ending at the core. Chances were, the man would return to the Erich district, as it was a place not many would think to look, not even the Preventers – the Erich area was the very slums of this Colony, a threshold for brothels, bordellos, prostitutes, and drug dealing. Hardly the place one would think anyone in his right mind would hide out in.
I tore my attention to the present, chiding myself silently for losing focus on little details. The man standing next to the gravity-train's entrance scrutinized my ticket, but I knew he would find nothing wrong with it. It was perfectly legal, yet the man suspiciously demanded to see my ID. It was perfectly understandable, so I let this pass without any word.
"Trowa Barton, eh?" He handed the card back to me; obviously disappointed that everything was in order. I nodded emptily.
I'd be throwing the useless thing away anyway – I knew of no Trowa Barton, only of Nanashi. No name, no past, therefore nothing to hold me back, I reasoned, as I took my seat in the nearly empty transport. [Nothing to hold me back. Nothing at all]
I pulled out the copied file I had borrowed from Wufei. Took out the picture and stared at it coldly. With what the metro-track driver had told me, this man had to be at least in his forties – his hair *was* prematurely silver, almost white. His most noticeable features, I was told, were startling ice blue eyes and his height (he was taller than I was by a long shot). Other than that, he would have been completely forgettable, the type that could be easily lost in any crowd. In the Preventer photo, he was still frozen fleeing his crime, Quatre's blood now on his hands. I felt the beginnings of a red haze of rage start to descend, and dismissed the emotion with relative ease before it could grow any further. I was sinking back once more into old habits from years back in my past.
I glanced out the window of the gravity-train, hissing almost silently along the magnetized rails. Smoke was rising up in the distance – probably another riot breaking out in the inner rim Magnolia Sector – and getting swept away by the Colony's ventilation filters. [Most likely another library going up in flames] I observed with detachment. [Or stealing only half of a pair of sneakers. Idiots. They use Quatre's death as an excuse for anything] This time, only a glimmer of bitterness easily squashed into the cold void.
So far, every "peaceful gathering" of citizens had broken into these riots. There was even a term to describe this, "hagi-xa", wasn't it? Named so to mean chaos hidden in the ordered structures of letters, hagi-xa is supposedly the act of gathering a group of people in one area declaring peaceful protest, though the original is to riot. [Pure nonsense. There is nothing accomplished using that method] Still, if I was not mistaken, a hagi-xa was to take place close to the Erich district. I would have no trouble blending in as another protestor. The Preventers, allowing little to no communication between districts, had closed almost all of the Sectors of the Colony off. The Pavilion Sector was open for the time being, though I suspected it wouldn't be long before it, too, would be closed off during the manhunt.
If Quatre's killer had fled to Erich, he would be trapped, though there were plenty of places to hide. Searches were sweeping the whole Colony, but a Colony was generally very large – large enough to be a country, if it had been on Earth and not in space. A manhunt would most likely take half a year, considering the ground covered.
And I simply would not wait that long for *him* to be brought to justice. I'd deal with him myself, for my own reasons and not the good of the Colony. I was getting sick of constantly doing things for the good of the people and never anything for myself.
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Pavilion District, Erich
Erich could be hardly described as sprawling. Grimy, dark, dilapidated, noisy, and smelly, yes, but hardly sprawling. From a guess, Erich had a population over one million: the average for a district was at least triple that. From its "used" state, I supposed Erich was the center for all sorts of traffic, most likely of the kind that people did their best to ignore. The filters, of course, cleaned the air above the district daily, but even this did little to lift the gloomy atmosphere and the stench. Erich smelled like something long dead had been rotting away, mixed in with some other awful sweet-sour smell that told of human sweat and garbage. I leaned against a greasy lamppost, and purposely inhaled the noxious air. [Might as well force myself to get used to this right now]
I was lucky that I had talked to the metro-track driver. If not for him, I wouldn't have known where to start my search, even if I had stumbled by chance into Erich. Go talk to the old woman, the driver had said, living in the shack next to the gravity-train platform. According to him, this woman did nothing but watch people enter and exit Erich, observing like some sort of voyeur. She was pretty much a spy for hire. She'd surely know if "the man" had entered the city, and most likely know where there was anyone else who had more knowledge regarding him. She would "remember" only for a fee, naturally. So I knew where I would begin.
The cracking pavement streets were full. Of the homeless, pleading to deaf ears for shelter, of the beggars, stretching out pale splotched skeleton-like hands for handouts. A man rushed past, dragging a weeping young girl with him by her bound wrists. Two women went in the opposite direction, sucking noisily from elongated pipes, puffing curling little clouds from unnaturally red cheeks, blinking owlishly from yellowed eyes. A scrawny boy and his mother were eying those passing by greedily, their gnarled claws of hands clenching open and closes in frustration and pent-up anger at those better off than they. I blocked all this out, staring at the houses lining the other side of the street
. There it was. Quite literally a shack, but in much better shape when compared to some of the housing nearby.
I crossed the street, and pushed upon the door. It screeched, teetering on rusting hinges, and looked like it was about to fall off. The lighting inside was poor, but I could make out the shadow of a figure in the back, reclining on a broken mattress covered with tattered towels.
"What brings you here, young man?" Gravelly, like her vocal cords were rubbing with sand paper.
I returned her measuring gaze with an expressionless face, wasting no time on getting to the point, "I'm looking for someone. A man, in his forties with silver hair. Cut short, blue eyes, taller than I am. He returned here a week ago."
The old woman leaned forward, drawing her towels around her, "I…*might* have seen someone of this description," she said, and leaned toward her right, shuffling about in the darkness, "Of course, my memory is faulty in my old age. I don't know if this senile elderly woman can remember someone when she sees so many, many people pass by her shack every day." An expectant pause.
"What's your price?"
"Two hundred credits beforehand," she was suddenly businesslike, dropping her helpless old woman act as if it had never existed. "That now, or act as errand boy for an hour."
I refused to be goaded, "I have the money now. What do you know of him?"
"The money first, mercenary, information second. That's how this world works," she reached greedily out with a wrinkled brown hand. I handed her the credits, not caring about the price. Money held little importance to me, as I had more pressing affairs on my mind, "My thanks."
I didn't bother to reply, merely waiting. She lay back down on the broken mattress.
"Yes, I did see such a man of your description. He was carrying a black case, the type you could conceal a weapon in. Tall, blue eyes, silver hair, as you described. He also had a day's amount of beard stubble on his chin, and looked like he hasn't eaten well for several days. That describes just about everyone in Erich, though," a low chuckle at her cleverness, "He left the day just before the New Years, and came back the fourth of January. I haven't seen him leave through the gravity-train platform, and of course all the space docks are closed down. I'm assuming he's still in Erich."
[Then the bastard can only hide so long…] But I still needed more information.
"Is there anyone else seen in his company or knows more of him?" I asked, dropping another fifty-unit credit on the ground, just out of her reach.
"I've only caught glimpses of this man, but I've seen him several times. I do know for certain that he's been in Yuki-Wong a couple of times, and probably not for the booze there. I've heard that he usually asked for the silkie Mayumi. How Mayumi became a silkie for that place is beyond me – but I've seen him climbing the stairs of Yuki-Wong for Mayumi." The old woman gave a disgusted snort, pulling the credit off of the floor and examining it for any blemishes, "Yuki-Wong's on Denver Street, with the other Wongs. It's next to the Sendero-Wong, so you can't miss the place."
Almost enough to satisfy me, but I still had one more question.
"Do you know his name?" Another thrown credit.
She beamed, a nasty expression not helped by the fact that the meager light was catching on a giant mole just under her mouth, "I've only heard his last name," picked up the credit, "It's Duval. I'm guessing he's an Earth-bred German or something from the sound of it."
[Duval, is it? I guess I had better start searching at this Yuki-Wong]
I turned and left without another word, leaving the old woman to count her fees. The streets were starting to fill up, as the skies above Erich began to darken slowly. The Colony not only strived to create false weather, there was also a timer set for "day" and "night" for the whole structure. Trying to be more like Earth, I reflected sourly, as I forced myself through the crowded streets. Dark clouds were roiling in – apparently the weather controller felt like rain today. I let myself be carried along by the crowds of people, glancing about and carefully marking down landmark buildings into my mind. Several times, I felt someone's hands trying to reach itself into my pockets, trying to rob me of my possessions probably, and I would coldly crush their seeking fingers and push them back to their yelping owners. I hate pickpockets, and I let them know this by helpfully hindering them in their profession.
It was a gloomy greasy drizzle when I found myself standing in another part of Erich. The buildings here were in better repair then at the outskirts, many with garish and clashing colors intended to catch the eye and one's attention. The people here were in less of a hurry – stalls still lined the street, selling legal and illegal wares indiscriminately, the pedestrians idly walking from one to the other despite the pressing rain. The streets signs were rusting horribly, but I could make out one: Wongs – Denver Street.
I turned to regard the wide street, standing on the corner of the damp sidewalk. Hotels and inns lined were spaced between many of the Wongs, dwarfing small businesses and a few residential houses that were surrounded by tall fences topped with curling barbed wire. This looked like this was the place. I'd probably have to check into a hotel or inn; it didn't look like there were any other choices. I didn't harbor any foolish trusts in the innkeepers – they'd rob you blind as easily as they would give you a free room. I kept this in mind as I chose an inn at random, somewhat smaller than the others and noticeably less gaudy. As I stepped through the doors, the rain suddenly started to pour down, with a suddenness that would be unnatural had it been produced by nature. The weather controller must have gotten bored.
"Welcome, sir, to the Hacienda Inn!" the clerk behind the counter gushed. He was a small, portly man, brimming with forced cheerfulness. He somehow reminded me of a fat weasel, complete with a quivering handlebar mustache, "Will you be wanting a room?"
I nodded. [I'm probably going to have to keep an eye on him] I ignored my surroundings, stepping up to the Formica counter.
"Will you be having a suite or a single room?" He was looking me up and down; no doubt trying to gauge how much money I had on my person.
"Single."
He typed something into the computer console in front of him, "And how many days, will you be staying at Hacienda, sir?"
"Until I leave," I answered flatly, brooking no argument, "I'll pay then."
He nodded; nearly bounced his head off, and began rummaging about in a drawer for card keys.
"Thank you, sir. Your room is A28. Have a pleasant stay in Erich." He held out a scuffed white card out to me, a fake smile plastered on his face.
I took it and started up the stairs. My search was finally getting off to a good start. I thought I would be excited but there was nothing, only a dull throbbing rage deep inside. Empty, empty, this was a feeling that was the most familiar to me, and the easiest to deal with. The cold pit contained only hatred and I kept this fury to a simmering knot, sometimes forgetting completely that it was there.
I shut the door behind me, locking it. The rain was splashing past the window panes, drumming on the roof. Other than a worn bed, desk, and adjoining bathroom, the room was empty. Pointless to try to continue my search today. [I might as well settle myself down for the night]
I dropped my satchel on the bed, the springs creaking under the added weight. The rain pounded dully overhead, a throbbing sound that reverberated in the room. I suddenly became aware of how physically and mentally tired I was. [Come to think of it, I haven't slept in a long time. No wonder I feel brain-dead] I hesitated, somewhat unsure if I should continue brooding to myself. [It makes sense. I've been thinking…thinking constantly about *him* since he died. Still, that's not much of an excuse – I must get rid of his killer. Then I can decide what I need to do next]
I found myself heading for the bathroom, absently shedding my clothing. I had been skirting away from the facts, but I knew I had to get them and my surface feelings straight before resuming my search. I stepped into the shower, turning the water on, only vaguely aware of the warm sensation washing down the length of my body. [How many days has it been? Certainly more than seven since] Silly questions, bringing to memory others from the past.
\You're so modest, Trowa! Sometimes you need to lighten up sometimes!\
Yeah, right.
\Despite what you want others to believe, I don't think you like being alone\
Correct.
\You've been so empty all this time. I wouldn't be surprised if you misunderstand your feelings as they surface\
I doubt it.
\Sometimes you confuse me, Trowa. I think I know you, and suddenly I find you're wearing another mask. Why…?\
Because…I'm afraid, Quatre…
For you…
And for me…
To be continued...
>>>>>
Whew, I was surprised people actually reviewed it. Thanks for doing
so! ^_^ The next chapter's not that good (at least I don't think so, but
then again, I like to have Trowa doing one of those angst torture thingies,
so who am I to talk? The next chapter has some parts where Trowa starts
weirding himself out, but it's all good home-grown mental obsession nags...or
something. Whatever. ;P), but please read and review this chapter, I'd
appreciate it. Can't bribe you for it, but I suppose saying thanks is good
enough. :P Thanks again for reading. I won't be putting up Chapter 3 for
a while (at least not until I get more reviews and I actually have this
one finished). I wonder what makes people suddenly decide to read this
fanfiction? Well, any comments or flames, feel free to e-mail me them at
shampo_famira@yahoo.com