Wings of Love Part VII 7/? (3x4, 4x3)
Disclaimor: Gavin is back. He is mine. Quatre is not.
Gavin had disappeared for a while by this time, and then come back, and disappeared once again. He was like some
angel or god who could come and go at will. He was gone now, which gave the weary soul some much needed time
to absorb the effects and surreal reality of their timeless journey in this forsaken place. It was a lot to absorb.
They had left the Moors of the dead behind them long ago. While he had walked it, the great expanse of flatness
seemed neverending. But then the bleak landscape had faded to crumbled mountains and forlorn peaks. He missed
the moors now-yearned for the mist that buried the sadness that was evident in every inorganic line of this dread
world. The mist kept it hidden and thus enclosed his heart with a numbness. Now all was sadness. Then there was
the smell. It was still stale-as lifeless as the surroundings. Yet, it should have changed when he entered the
mountains. The air should be thin and crisp, as he remembered it in life.
And then it hit him. He wasn't breathing.
It took a moment for the shock to absorb, but little-by-little the idea clicked into place. The whole concept was
sensible, after all. A spirit had no need to breath. It survived without air or food or water-or any material substance
for that matter. However, a deeper sense of hopelessness had sunk into place. It seemed to him that he had been
robbed of another sense- no taste, no smell, no touch-but for memories and foreign or forgotten inner rushes and
chills. All he was truly left with was his hearing and sight.
/Will that fade too?/ It seemed everything else had.
Quatre shifted his position on his boulder-perch. It was becoming uncomfortable, if that were even possible... Or
maybe he was just trying to remember pain and discomfort, his mind playing tricks on him, all to make him feel
something-/anything/.
But there was nothing: Infinite and extroadinary nothing. Any touch was imagined. It was a miracle that he could
even stand or walk-or sit at all.
Blue-green eyes scouted the landscape like a hawk, the irises locked within the turbid depths trying desperately to find
some sign of motion. Where was Gavin? It seemed that he had been sitting upon that stone waiting for and eternity.
Maybe he had. He didn't have a watch, and the sun never rose. There was nothing in this world with which to tell
Time by. Maybe by now Trowa was dead, trying to find his way to Quatre- or worse, he had forgotten him
altogether. Tears pricked his eyes.
/I shouldn't think such things/, he scolded.
The lonely spirit shuddered. His back was sore. How, he didn't know. It just was. He stretched, trying to relieve it
or pinpoint it. The motion only succeeded in making it feel worse. The blonde would have called it an inner pain, but
there was no inner to pain. What was worse, the soreness came from two separate places near his shoulder blades.
He wished Gavin would return.
A sigh escaped the slight frame. They had stopped here what seemed like a lifetime ago, but that lazy object of Time
had already been pondered. Why had he been left here all alone, anyway?
///
The frail boy stood before him, holding up a tiny hand to detain the spirit. Quatre could see determination radiating
from the pallid face, while the boys wide, dark eyes stared uot blank, eyes so dilated that they appeared to be black:
/Like Wu-fei's/ he mused. And image of the Chinese youth danced briefly before his eyes and then faded.
*Chang Wu-fei, pilot 05 of Nataku ...* What did the thoughts mean.
"I have to go," stated the boy, breaking into his concentration. Gavin's eyes narrowed, suddenly resembling another
image familiar to him. The name echoed in his head. Heero Yuy-yes, the Heart of the Universe.
*Pilot 01 of Wing Gundam and Wing Gundam 0 ...* Pieces ... Patches.
This boy, this fragile boy was like Heero? /The Soul of the Universe?/ Yes. Somewhere deep inside him, the Lamb
could feel the soul of this boy reverbing through the whole world in syncopation, the vibration filling his own being
with a magnanimous feeling of oneness. / He's like the Phoenix/ He didn't know why he felt that, but somehow it
was true. The boy was somehow cyclic. How many times had he risen from his own ashes to face the blood -red
rising sun? Was he some great hero reborn in a time when the world most needed him ... Or just what he is, a boy ...
A mere thread in the great tapestry of Time and Destiny ... A link in the great Eternity Circle ... The Chain binding
Life to Death and Death to Life.
*Phoenix ... Azrael ... Shinigami ...*
Duo! Violet eyes and omnipresent smile filled his view as a few more pieces fell into place.
*Duo Maxwell, pilot 02 of the Deathscythe and Deathscythe Hell ...*
He had called himself Shinigami, the God of Death. Did he see Gavin in his dreams?
"Stay here." The boy's voice had choked off his thoughts yet again. "There are bad things out there. Things that can
hurt you ..."
Confusion set upon the Arab again. "What do you mean? I'm dead." His question faded at his lips as the look in those hazy eyes changed. They contained a note of fear and worry. /I know something you don't know/ came their voice. Those eyes, those multi-colored orbs- They were so haunting; solemn, omniscient, and deep, throwing echoes of enigmas like some forgotten ocean or the infinite spiral of Outer Space.
//
It had been aeons ago to him. It had been to the rest fo the world, right? Well, he was alone now. If he could, he'd
make use of the time. /I wish I had a watch/ he thought again, though he figured that it wouldn't work anyway. It
wouldn't stay on his wrist come to think of it. A numb pain seeped into him. It was his back again ...
He pushed it from his mind. Ignoring the pain he flitted through his shattered memories, conjuring up the soothing
images of life. Trowa Barton ... Nanashi ... tawny hair, eyes like emeralds ... Lith and strong as a Lion ... the Lion
that was in his soul. He found the image and clung to it.
/Mine/ he thought.
*CRUNCH* The sound took the golden haired boy by surprise and he tumbled off his lofty perch with another
crunching sound. The shock took him by surprise. If he was indeed incorporeal matter, how then did the ground
stop him? A spiritual barrier? Dazed and confused he lay on the rocky ground, staring up at the never-changing,
hazed-grey sky.
The figure that had made the crunching sound stepped over him, casting a muted shadow in his face. However, he
immediately recognised the tell-tale spider-silk mop that cloaked and designated Gavin's face. He really did look like
Azrael from that position, shadowed features and black garments giving way to ghost pale skin and snow white hair.
He was the perfect visage of Death.
"Are you alright?" the boy questioned. His voice quivered, like the fading plunck of a harp string. The angel-boy's
lips were parted with worry, the pearls within clenched tightly together. Nostrils flared in a worrying way, not unlike
the Unicorn surrounded by sinful and lusty Hunters. And out of his head gazed those dreadfully dark, swirling,
amethyst-emerald eyes, whites showing wildly- Trapped and all to aware of the coveted horn on his brow.
"I'm fine, Gavin."
At those words, the tension in the boy vanished in an instant. Gavin truly and deeply cared about Quatre and his
promise. He wished now, as when he had first met the boy, that Trowa knew him.
But he had to get to Trowa to introduce them. "What now?"
"We finish crossing the Mountains. The Ocean isn't far now. After the Mountains, the walking is easy."
That implied that something would be waiting ... Something far more dangerous. "What's there?"
The child shook off the question and started walking away, forcing the other to follow him in silence. Heero Yuy ...
The name echoed blatantly in his mind again. Who /was/ Heero Yuy? There were so many gaps in his memory.
Now he knew what amnesia must have been like for Trowa. Amnesia? Where had that come from? He thought
about it. Trowa had no past either ... Nanashi-No Name. Quatre fished around in his brain. No past whatsoever. He
wondered ...
"So where do you come from?" he asked the boy.
"Earth." It was obvious from his tone of voice that the death-child wasn't very fond of his home, wherever it was.
However, he was curious to find out more about Quatre's origin and asked the same plain question fo the spirit.
"Outer Space ... a colony, I think. There-there are too many holes where memories should be," the blonde stumbled.
He stopped and thought, brows knitting deep into his skull. "I ... I hated war. I know that. But for some reason, I
fought."
//War brings sorrow, but we must fight to protect the ones we love from sorrow.//
"I know what war does," answered Gavin. "I'll never fight. Battles make dead people and dead people come here."
An unseen wind caught the boy's hair as his small fist clenched and unclenched in distress. He hated what he saw in
this place.
//Bury all hope ye who enter here//
Quatre walked on in silence for a moment, thinking on what the boy had said. In a way, it was a simple truth, but-
"What if you let someone live, but in living they would cause other people to suffer, and more to perish? Others
would be destroyed because /one/ man lived." The Arab didn't know what had prompted the question. It had just
escaped him, like Fate had taken her boney fingers and molded the words at his lips.
"It's still wrong," the boy replied hurriedly.
"It's just as wrong to let him live."
At that, the boy sunk into reticence. The statement had left its mark, like a brand or a whiplash- And the idea
compounded all the questions he had ever wondered about Right and Wrong into one.
"Why?" he finally asked.
"Because sometimes one wrong is worse than another."
The journeyed in silence for a long time after that. Quatre glanced over now and again, but the somber, little boy
stared straight ahead, ignoring the Lamb altogether. Inwardly, the soul sighed again. Despite this young mortal's
apparant loss of innocence, he still clung to the contradictory and unforgiving Black and White ideas that in reality
could never exist- Never /did/ exist. Who was /he/ to introduce him to shades of grey.
Someone had to.
He looked at the boy again, observing the downward slant of his vision, slightly slumped shoulders, and hands buried
in his pockets. Seeing him in this light Quatre came upon an epiphany. Gavin's soul knew, and had known for a long
time-but his confused child-mind refused to believe it was true and wanted desperately to believe it was a lie.
But the child didn't know what to believe, and now neither did Quatre. His faith was shaken at the foundation when
he arrived here. According to that faith he should be in Paradise. The Lamb looked at the crumpled, neutral rock
around him. This certainly wasn't Paradise.
"I'm Welsh," the boy finally said, answering a question that Quatre had forgotten he had asked. "I'm Welsh, but I was
born in the United States. I've never been to Outer Space."
Quatre felt the tension dissipate. The boy had accepted, and moved on. "It's different, Gavin. There are lots of
machines there."
"Machines are alright." Gavin smiled, still ghostly in appearance.
"Bet you prefer hiking."
The smile became a genuine grin. It was amazing how that simple expression lightened a formerly solemn and
unearthly face. "Yeah. Nature's not touched by people ... Not spoiled by hate."
"No ..." Quatre paused, trying to sniff the air again. If he couldn't breath, how could he talk anyway. He tried again-Nothing. "What's it smell like?"
The child shrugged, drawing in a deep breath. "Dunno."
"I can't smell."
"I know, its not fair."
"Hmm ..." The pain was back. Quatre wrapped his arms around to his back to try and rub out the pain. Fingers
shrunk back, however, when they discovered two lumps near his shoulder blades.
Gavin stopped, turning to face the mystified spirit once again. Dilated eyes pierced through him with a strange,
vacant depth. Quatre felt himself falling into the murky, twilight fathoms, floundering in the rapids of a confused and
enigmatic mind. In this state of mind he found himself involuntarily leaning forward, barely balanced in front of the
boy.
"Careful, you'll fall again."
The Arab started back, eyes reforming on the whole death-pale face. He wondered if the boy burnt in the sun. Did he
even venture outside?
The young boy glanced at where Quatre's arms were still wrapped around his 'body'. The willowy form stepped
around the spirit and reached up to remove the clasped hands, arching his feet to stand on tiptoes and reach him. Tiny
hands grabbed much largere and elegant ones, trying gently to get him to let go.
Quatre literally jumped three feet in the air at the slight touch of the mortal boy. A strange sensation ran through his
being, rushing up and down his spine like electricity. Gavin had touched him! He was only a spirit, but this mortal
had touched him. It was a shocking feeling, but welcome too. What powers were endowed upon him to allow this
touch? What all could this Azrael-boy do? The questions faded as the warmness in his soul spread. Perhaps there
was some hope for him. Soft, gentle hadns had him in their care.
/I will return to you, Trowa/ he thought. /I can. I will. I-/
"You okay? I didn't mean to scare you."
Quatre nodded, pulling himself back together. "I would have expected you to go through me."
"I ..." his voice faded. "That's what happens with most. It's a really strange feeling. You don't want it to happen."
The blonde looked perplexed. "Why don't you go through me?"
"I kind of focus on my soul, and then I can touch you- Like I'm dead too." The boy behind him stood quiet for a
moment, examining the bare, lurid back of the ghost. He seemed so solid in that moment, standing with the child
running his hands over the alabaster back. With his near black orbs he spied that which he had been looking for: two
small lumps in the skin, placed one on each shoulder blade. The child dropped his hands, satisfied.
"Your back hurts," he said. It was an obvious statement, but in that voice came a hidden sentiment of sympathy.
Quatre nodded and shrugged, trying again to relieve this strange and foreign pain. The boy tiptoed back up and
started rubbing, guided by more mature hands that neither could see. It was meant purely as a kind gesture to a kind
person and the Lamb sank back into that emotion, welcoming its brief freedom whole-heartedly.
"Why does it hurt?" he questioned through the strange, soul-moving touch. /Trowa touched me like that. He always
touched my soul./ His mind wandered briefly from his question, but it snapped back, voice repeating the question.
The child laughed like the question was silly. "That's where your wings will go!"
Quatre jumped, turning to face the child, who hadn't sensed the movement coming. White hair flew up as he ducked
under his hands, expecting battery. Slowly a dazed smile spread across his face. He would make it! He would return
to Trowa, keeping that promise he made a journey ago.
Free, free, free! Despite the pain, he felt his soul almost lifted by that thought alone. Gavin uncoiled himself, seeing
the look of rapture on the youth's face. "Free ..." the blonde whispered.
The mortakl shook his head. "They aren't born yet, and they'll have to grow before they can carry you. We've still a
long way to go to Janus, and dangers to face. I know you're happy, but don't be blind. There are things here who's
only purpose is to rip apart souls and prevent their passage."
Gloom descended again: Still bound. How long would he have to wait to see his beloved Trowa? How long?
Azrael looked up, tears pricking those mortal, yet immoratal eyes. A tiny hand wound its fingers around the larger
soul's, squeezing gently. Quatre looked down and smiled. "It's alright, Gavin." /I'll do anything./
With wary steps the apir walked on, down the slope now. Rocks crumbled and slid precariously with each footfall.
Looking down, the blonde could see a huge precipice on the right: "The Abyss", Gavin said softly. The soul
shuddered and shrunk further left, almost crushing his guide. He had an innate feeling that should he fall from this
mountain, he would fall forever and ever. It was like being cast into Oblivion itself, inescapable.
To break the tense silence, the ghost spoke up again. "Do you lead a lot of men this way?" The voice quavered, ever
wary of the Abyss to the right. Hand clenched tighter to Gavin's.
The child shook his head, moonlight hair feathering elegantly around his cherubic, young face. He knitted his brows
in a sorrowful, knowing frown and sighed. "Not many ever love... " He paused, tears trickling down his cheeks.
"They-they all have some hate buried deep down in their soul that keeps them." He closed his eyes for a moment,
trying to remember something. "There was one almost two years ago. I can't forget him."
As the boy spoke, a question formed in Quatre's mind. There was something important about two years ago: A.C.
195- "Who?"
The answer came as a shock.
"His name was Treize Khushrenada. He knew that his death was the only way to end war and obtain true peace.
The act was selfless."
The blonde opened and shut his mouth, shocked.
*Treize Khushrenada, head of OZ and the Romefellar Foundation, creator of the Epyon ...*
"He told he about his life," Gavin continued. "The bad things he did, the monsters he created ... He manipulated and
it was wrong, but his heart was in the right place." He took a deep breath, pausing. "Shades of grey. I guess you're
right."
The blonde nodded. "I knew him. Somehow ..."
"He's gone now, anyway: Flying free somewhere across the Ocean. He liked me a lot- said I reminded him of five
boys ... He called them Gundam Pilots. If you knew Treize, did you know them?"
Several jigsaw puzzles locked into place. Quatre choked on the memories for a moment. /My dear, Sandrock .../
The images swept him away in a flurry of madness. He blew up a colony, hurt Trowa-almost destroyed him,
threatened everyone around him, then fought a blond, Dorothy, with a fencing foil for the cause of peace.
*OZ, Noin, Une, Milliardo and Zechs, Mariemaia Khushrenda. Treize ...*
* Heero ... Duo ... Wu-fei ... Trowa.*
"I knew them, Gav," choked out the spirit. "I was one of them."