Untitled Document

"Blood Brothers -- Part II: The Deliberate Trap"
by s1ncer1ty

-----

** Y'all of little faith... I told you this was just about done! I really had to re-work the ending. I wasn't happy with what I had originally.
I must admit, writing the Duo/Wu Fei interaction was fun as hell. I wonder if they're as fun on the show... Though that sort of conversation probably goes to Heero...
Again, Yaoi only if you want it to be. Again, listen to something by Stabbing Westward while reading this. ***

-----

As the storm of weeping finally passed, Quatre began to doze off, both the physical and emotional shock of the unplanned explosion and Trowa's subsequent injuries taking their toll on his weakened body. He couldn't tell how long he slept in the arms of his friend, or how long Trowa himself had been unconscious, but at some point Quatre found himself awakened by a gentle shake against his shoulders.

"Quatre? Quatre, wake up." Although his voice was weak, Trowa spoke insistently in the boy's ear.

Quatre ran a bare arm across his eyes, though his tears had long since dried, and gingerly extracted himself from Trowa's arms. He stared down into the single visible green eye of his friend, shivering at the pallidness of the other boy's complexion. "Trowa, how ... how are you ..."

Dodging Quatre's attempt to question his well-being, Trowa interjected, "Did you realize that the room we're in still has power?"

"Huh? I don't understand..." Quatre gazed down into the softly illuminated face, his brows furrowing.

"The power should have been out -- and we should have been dead -- a long, long time ago."

"Then the entire barge wasn't destroyed," Quatre replied, still holding onto desperate hope.

Trowa shook his head, wincing. He was still so weak from loss of blood, and the swift motion made his head spin... "That's not logical. The remote control activated the explosion, and you know as well as I do that all those bombs are linked to detonate at the same time. Besides," he added, pausing from his cold, quiet speech to take a shivering breath, "the orbit doesn't feel right. This is a smaller vessel than what we were on before."

Quatre slumped against the wall at his friend's side, digesting the information. After some long moments of thought, he finally ventured, "It doesn't feel as if we're being propelled by anything."

"You're correct," Trowa replied immediately, his voice straining a little. "We're drifting."

"Why haven't the others found us yet? They should still be able to detect our heartbeats on their sensors," Quatre stated with a growing sense of panic.

"I don't know," whispered the silent HeavyArms pilot, his eyes drifting shut. The conversation alone was draining him -- all the boy wanted to do was sleep.

"What are we going to do?"

"Quatre, I ... I want you to ..." Trowa struggled to finish his sentence, as unconsciousness threatened to overtake him once again.

"What is it, Trowa?" the Arabian pilot begged.

"...live..."

Quatre drew Trowa's head to his shoulder, the boy's neck rolling limply. "I don't want to live without you, my friend," he whispered.

***

"Gundam Sandrock located," Wu Fei stated with cold precision across the communications link. "No sign of the pilot."

Back at the base of operations, Duo slammed his fist against the arm of his chair in frustration. "Kuso!" he snarled, assuming one of his favorite curses from Heero. "Can't you scan for organic material, Wu Fei? Dead or alive, we've got to get them home!"

"That's an amusing notion, Maxwell," Wu Fei intoned across the link. "But an impractical one, at that."

Heero rose from the chair beside Duo and planted both hands upon the control panel. "Come back, Wu Fei."

"Acknowledged."

Duo tilted his blue eyes up at Heero, his brows raising in concern. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

Coolly, Heero gazed down at the American pilot from beneath his long bangs. "Your guilt is just eating you alive, isn't it?"

"Wha--?" Duo was shocked, and he sat up straighter in his seat before forcing a pained laugh. Heero had seen right through his front of cheeriness, but for some reason he felt inclined to keep it up. "No, not at all! I'm just concerned for their families, that's all."

"Two dozen test-tube sisters and a circus wench? Wu Fei was right. You are amusing," Heero stated, though, as usual, no mirth was evident in the boy's voice.

Duo shrugged casually, continuing to put up the facade of cheerfulness, the only thing that kept him sane through such trying times. "They were our friends, too. And damn good pilots."

"I know," Heero replied, pushing aside his chair and striding for the door. "But Wu Fei's been out there six hours. That's why I'm going to relieve him and head out there, myself."

When the young Japanese pilot was gone, Duo turned back to monitoring the control panel, muttering to himself. "You really make it hard for me to hate you sometimes, Heero. Especially when you keep proving to me that you do have a heart."

***

After several hours in their floating tomb -- with Trowa lapsing intermittently in and out of consciousness -- a new danger arose, and Quatre realized that their situation was all the more dire. The air had begun to grow stuffy, leading the boy to believe that no life support systems were enabled in their sealed, drifting prison. The lights were still on, but the only oxygen they had was what was currently in the room -- and currently being expended at a rapid rate.

The deliberate cruelty of the trap tore at Quatre's soul with agonizing fierceness.

Quatre suspected that Trowa had known all along. At the very least, he'd understood the callousness of human nature, and would not have put such a trick past anyone. Hurt so many times in the past, his heart had been hardened well beyond his fifteen years of age. Yet something within him still drove him to protect the innocent -- Quatre, in particular -- from the knowledge that he himself had learned from inhumane, firsthand experience.

Trowa had always protected him. Now, it was his turn to repay the favor.

The spare toolkit allowed Quatre the ability to disassemble the sheet metal panels -- the ones that hadn't been torn apart in the explosion -- on the wall. However, with only basic tools to work with, the work was slow and cumbersome. One by one, he unscrewed the bolts holding the paneling down, leaving them in a neat pile beside him, and he carefully inspected the wiring and the circuitry he found beneath. He'd find something -- life support, the means to reestablish a communications link to the outside, perhaps even the means to jury-rig a crude propulsion system. He had to...

"Did you ever think you would die like this, Quatre?" For the time being, Trowa was awake, his whispering voice drifting across the narrow hallway to where Quatre worked on prying off the fourth panel.

"We're not going to die," the Arabian pilot insisted, unable to turn around to face his friend. If he did, he felt he might weep again, and that would do neither of them any good, with the air supply as short as it was.

"It's really not so bad," whispered Trowa.

Hearing the normally silent boy speak in such a manner -- revealing, beneath the toughened exterior, the rare and open glimpse at emotion -- sent chills down Quatre's spine. "We're going to survive, Trowa." The boy's voice was, perhaps, a little too harsh for his liking. It was a vague attempt to conceal his own terror and despair. "Stop talking like that."

"I'm ... glad I'll be able to die like this." Trowa was starting to fade again, but Quatre could hear the strain as he fought to remain conscious. "At least ... I'll die at your side. I'll die with a name..."

"You've always had a name, Trowa," Quatre muttered, thrusting his hands into the mass of wiring beneath the paneling. They had to lead somewhere... "Even if you don't know what it is."

"Trowa Barton is not my name."

"I ... I know," Quatre said, feeling vaguely alarmed at the tremor in his voice. Clearing his throat, he added, "When the war is over, you can come back with me to L4."

"Hunh?"

"You're always welcome in the Winner family, Trowa."

The injured pilot had gone silent once again, the only noise coming from him the steady rasp of breath. Quatre willed himself to turn around, and he brought a hand to his lips at the sight. If it hadn't been so utterly unexpected, Quatre might really have broken down. But crying was the farthest from his mind, and all he could do was stare in numb bewilderment.

"Trowa, you're not... Oh."

Through the depths of unconsciousness, a single tear traced a path through the grime upon Trowa's cheek and disappeared beneath his chin.

***

Duo tapped the keys on the control panel in the same pattern he had for the past eight hours, still trying to establish some sort of link with the downed pilots. His movements were lethargic, his eyes drooping heavily -- but how could he sleep at a time like this? Like a robot, like the unfeeling Gundam he piloted with precision through so many previous battles, he struggled to continue his job.

A thin paper cup, steaming at the top, snapped down upon the control panel before him, startling Duo from his thoughts. He turned to gaze into the black, unblinking eyes of Wu Fei staring down at him.

"You brought me coffee," he murmured, forcing a half-hearted smile to his face. "I didn't know you cared, Wu Fei."

"I didn't bring you coffee," the proud Chinese pilot muttered, his arms crossing over his chest. "It's tea. Chamomile and chrysanthemum."

"Pfft. That stuff'll just put me to sleep."

Wu Fei was silent a moment, before stating, "That's the point."

Duo narrowed his eyes at the boy defensively. "What about you? You've been up just as long -- if not longer -- than me."

"I've also had the time to meditate, to revitalize my body," Wu Fei returned coldly. "You, on the other hand, cannot perform your job with accuracy or efficiency." His voice softening a little, he added, "You must sleep, Duo. I will awaken you if the situation changes. Okay?"

The young American pilot let out a light sigh, rubbing both hands across his eyes, and picked the cup of tea up by the rim. Sliding the chair aside, he stood, and Wu Fei immediately traded places with him, lest he change his mind. "Thank you, Wu Fei."

The other boy glanced up at Duo, and gave a small nod of deference. "You're welcome."

***

Quatre coughed against a closed fist, the air within the sealed, drifting debris that had once been a hallway becoming heavier with each breath. His fingers bore a multitude of tiny cuts, the nails embedded with hints of metal wiring and the dried remains of Trowa's blood. With almost giddy realization, he pondered whether or not he'd ever play the violin again if he survived.

Of course, to get Trowa out of here alive, I'd give up the ability to make music. I'd give up everything, the young Arab thought.

The other pilot hadn't woken up since he'd last fainted, and Quatre supposed he should be thankful. If the air ran out, at least Trowa wouldn't be conscious while he suffocated.

But Quatre tried his hardest to keep his mind from such morbid thoughts. He continued to occupy his time with dismantling the paneling of the wall. If his hunch were correct, he'd eventually find what he'd been looking for... It was just a matter of whether or not he'd have the time or the air supply to unearth it.

Wiping sweat from his brow with a bare arm, Quatre had to pause before dislodging the next metal panel to catch his breath. He tried to take slow, shallow breaths, but even that left him dizzy. Once again, he picked through masses of wire, sheets of circuitry... Yet this recess inside the wall was deeper than the previous sections, and Quatre slid onto his stomach in order to extend his reach within. His fingers wrapped around a single, anomalous black box, still attached to the wiring system, and he inched his way out of the recess.

As Quatre stared down at the box, five inches square on each side and littered with multicolored wires, he heard a weak voice drift across the narrow hallway.

"That's it."

"You're awake," Quatre breathed, turning back towards his injured friend, the box held in shaking fingers. "It's ... I found the power core."

Silently, Trowa flicked his fingertips, gesturing for Quatre to bring the box to him. With the wires still attached, the Arabian boy slowly returned to his friend's side and placed the tiny piece of machinery in his hands. Trowa's green eyes, shaded beneath a tangled fray of bangs, betrayed no emotion as he turned the box around, delicately avoiding the wiring surrounding it.

"Can we do something with it?" Quatre murmured.

Trowa was silent a few moments more, and finally spoke, his voice ever-calm. "Destroy it."

Quatre blinked, startled, and shook his head. "You can't be serious. What if we--"

The boy broke off with just a look from Trowa, a direct gaze into his questioning eyes. Without saying a word, Trowa was reprimanding him, Quatre knew. He didn't have to explain his reason why -- and knowing the mysterious pilot, he very likely wouldn't -- but Quatre understood that Trowa's bizarre and possibly fatal request was necessary to free them from their prison, somehow.

"I trust you," Quatre whispered, taking the power control box from Trowa's hands. The metal bar, imprinted with a perfect mold of Trowa's teeth, lay nearby. Quatre picked it up, murmured a silent prayer through numb lips, and drove it through the center of the black box.

Immediately, the lighting shorted out with a pop and a shower of glass upon the two boys. At the sudden plunge into darkness, Quatre found himself overcome with sudden, unexpected terror, and he cried aloud, even though doing so made him feel insufferably dizzy. Trowa gripped his hand with surprising fierceness and, despite his injuries, yanked the boy towards him.

"Don't panic," Trowa said, his chest hitching with the effort to keep the Arabian pilot calm... to keep from fainting again. "If the other pilots are out there looking for us, they'll find us now."

"But -- but what if they're ...." Quatre couldn't finish, and he hid his face against Trowa's chest.

Trowa either could not speak, or would not speak. Both boys knew what would happen if the other Gundam pilots were not out searching for them still.

Quatre calmed down eventually, though his shoulders continued to shake uncontrollably. The air inside the drifting segment of debris was growing short, so short... The fight within him began to be replaced with the cold shock of acceptance. Maybe Trowa was right -- maybe it would be okay, after all, to die in the arms of a friend, a brother in arms. Maybe --

But the familiar -- and dangerously cautious -- voice from the now-unhindered communications link broke through the Arabian boy's thoughts of the great beyond. "You have five seconds to identify yourselves."

"Heero...?"

"Wrong. Three seconds."

"Quatre! Quatre Raberba Winner!" he choked out swiftly. "Heero, is that you?" Sandrock's pilot gasped from the exertion.

"Affirmative. Are you alone?"

"No... Trowa's with me. But he's hurt badly. You've got to get him out of here."

"Why haven't we been able to track you on our sensors until now?"

"Well, how am I supposed to --" the Arabian boy cried out suddenly. Trowa stopped him with a light squeeze of his shoulder.

Taking a shuddering breath, Trowa spoke in a paper-thin voice. "The power core was rigged with remote override circuitry, designed to scramble and rearrange electronic signals. Including communication and sensors."

"I see," Heero muttered curtly.

"It's also why the bombs activated prematurely," HeavyArms' pilot added in his thin voice. Quatre shivered in the darkness, finally understanding.

"Stand by, you two. I'll have you home in no time."

The link shorted out quickly, and the ceiling to their prison shook as Heero landed the Wing Gundam atop the floating wreckage.

Quatre nestled his head into the center of Trowa's chest, and the other boy loosely draped an arm across his shoulders. "Can you believe it, Trowa? We're saved," he stated, a tone of bewilderment and utter thankfulness in his voice

Trowa said nothing in return. But Quatre knew, even without seeing it, that he was smiling.

***

Duo's sleep had been dreamless, a dark void of space where stars hurtled constantly past. He'd fallen asleep the moment his body had hit the cot, and he had no idea how long he'd been gone before a hand shook him from the stars.

"Hunh?" he muttered, squinting through the darkness. A face hovered above him, the features unrecognizable.

"Wake up, Maxwell."

"Wu Fei?"

"I brought you coffee." The paper mug, much like the one that had earlier held tea, was thrust into Duo's hands.

The American pilot sat up and took a sip of the steaming concoction, which was heavily laced with sugar and cream. Sickeningly sweet -- exactly the way he preferred it. "Thanks," Duo muttered sleepily, before realization kicked in. Gasping, he nearly overturned the cup in his haste to unentangle himself from the volume of bed covers. "Quatre? Trowa? Where --"

"Heero's bringing them home," Wu Fei stated. "Alive."

This time setting the cup of coffee on the stand next to his cot, Duo leaped to his feet with a loud laugh. "I knew they'd make it! Wu Fei, I'd kiss you if I didn't think you'd kill me for it."

The Chinese pilot's black eyes glittered in the darkness. "You're a wise man, Duo Maxwell," he muttered, and, without another word, headed towards the door.

***

"Okay, Trowa. You know the rules. Show us the damage, Frankenstein," stated Duo, grinning like a madman down at the young pilot in the hospital bed.

Wordlessly, Trowa shifted aside the bedsheets to reveal the jagged gash in his leg, the rough wiring removed from the wound and neatly re-stitched by a professional hand. The other pilots looked on impassively -- Heero, leaning his back against a far wall; Wu Fei, standing directly beside the bed, his arms folded tightly over his chest; and Quatre, sitting in a nearby chair and staring out at the vast expanse of space beyond -- but Duo's violet eyes grew impossibly wide as he assessed the damage

"That's going to leave a wicked scar!" the American pilot exclaimed with a wince. "I'm jealous."

Trowa merely shrugged and replaced the sheets over his form, the saline IV in his arm rattling slightly.

"It's hardly a mark of pride," Wu Fei muttered irritably.

Duo rolled his eyes. "But it's cool."

"Do I need to remind you that that," the Chinese pilot darted a finger towards Trowa's leg, "is just a reminder of the enemy's cunning? Of how even the strong can fall if they let down their guard? Of how --"

Heero shoved his body away from the wall with a grunt. "Cool it, you two."

Duo darted a glance over to Heero, then returned his grin to Trowa. "Anyway, cool scar. Glad you're back," he added quickly.

Trowa closed his eyes once and merely nodded, his hair spilling across his vision.

"You must be tired," Heero stated in his usual flat tone. "We'll let you get some rest."

"Aww, but I wanted to hear Quatre tell us the story of the mission-gone-wrong again!" Duo whined.

Heero fixed Duo with a hard glare. "No."

Duo shook his head in amused annoyance, starting towards the door. "Okay, okay. Rest up, Trowa. And Quatre -- nice job, kid."

Upon hearing his name, Quatre looked up, startled from his reverie. "Huh? Oh... Oh, thanks," he murmured, his cheeks flushing faintly.

Wu Fei bowed his head briefly in deference on his way out, stating begrudgingly, "Your expertise would have been missed."

When the other boys finally left the cramped hospital room, Quatre relaxed in his chair, making no move to leave his friend. Instead, he scooted closer to the bedside, whispering, "I thought they'd never leave."

Trowa nodded silently in agreement. Turning his head upon the pillow, the young pilot looked out over Quatre's shoulder to the window and the stars beyond. The two sat in comfortable silence, simply watching the world pass -- and contented to do so. Once Trowa was back on his feet, he'd be required to become a soldier again, an eternal warrior in a redundant battle. However, until then, there was only the gentle respite of space, and the warm companionship of a brother in arms -- a brother who had, perhaps, gained a few dents in his innocence from the harrowing experience.

Quietly, Trowa and Quatre sat side-by-side, watching the stars. For now, it was all they needed.

~end~