Disclaimer: Guess what

Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own Gundam!

AN: Look! Another really long part! Ahhh! *But* - have no fear! The end is in sight! Somewhere….

Walking The Dividing Line

Part 15

This was too confining. I was sick of my room – now that I could walk, I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to *do* something. I'd read and reread all of Quatre's tech manuals until my mind nearly thought in circuits. The information wasn't coming back to me, per se, but it also hadn't been hard for me to study or learn. The schematics had veritably leapt off the page and into my head.

Maybe that was why OZ had used me in the first place.

I shook my head to clear it. Such thinking was useless now, and I knew that. OZ was a memory – well, not exactly, I thought with a grim smile. It wasn't a memory because Giniko had taken care of that. But the thought of OZ was just something I didn't want to dwell on for very long any more. Perhaps it was the pilots' presence, perhaps it was the knowledge that came from being told how many times they had used me. When I tried to think back, tried to remember having been captured before, with Duo on that space station, all I got back was static haze. Nothing concrete.

And I didn't mind. That was something I was sure I didn't want to remember. Maybe it was for the better that I could no longer recall it anyway. The here and now that I knew was the pilots, and I wanted to help them. I wanted to make up for what I had done in the past, whatever it was. If they would let me.

That was a big "if," that one was.

The here and now – my thoughts circled back to this room, with my bed and Quatre's chair and the window and the door, two reminders of just how trapped I really was. Nearly a month had passed and here I was, still confined to the same room that I'd been brought to when I had first been "rescued."

If one could call it that. I still didn't know the whole situation on that, and I knew that I likely never would. I knew what Quatre had told me, and I knew that he would tell me nothing more than his original story of him and Wufei finding myself and Duo, of Heero taking down and bringing back Giniko. All I had, other than that, was the memory of Wufei's arms around me, and his chest beside me, and the footsteps he took, one after another, to carry me out of that place.

Wufei. I felt my eyes narrow as I leaned on my familiar spot on the windowsill, gazing out at the ever-changing yet somehow stagnant sand dunes just beyond the compound walls. I hadn't seen him for a while, either. I didn't know how I felt about that – the last time I had seen him he'd stared at me with that dark unreadable gaze, dared me to prove to him that he shouldn't have just let me die.

Something about that gaze bothered me. There had to be some reason, some motivation – why would he even say that, dare me to fend for myself - ?

There was a loud sound, almost like a muffled explosion; I was flung to the ground, unwittingly crying out as I caught myself with my hands and the shock from the fall reverberated throughout my body. I blinked, and shoved myself to my feet again. What had that been?

I turned and headed for the door – no matter that I had been told to stay here, no matter that I didn't even remember my way around, I had to see what had happened. If the base was under attack –

What then? Would they think it was my fault? Did that matter? All I was concerned with at the moment was finding out what had just happened. The details could be worked out later.

Another sound, another shockwave and I hit the floor again, cursing loudly at the empty room as another wave of pain coursed through me. Dammit, why wouldn't these wounds just *heal* and let me forget? I struggled to my feet again, muttering another curse as I reached for the door handle.

I slid the door open and stepped out into the hall, stealing glances left and right before taking another step. No pilots so far. Where were they? For that matter, where was *I* in relation to anything? The fact that I didn't know my way around was certainly going to make itself known now, and I was going to have to deal with that before I did anything else.

I closed my eyes, wondering what to do next. I couldn't remember my way around – nothing came up when I tried to recall ever having walked these halls before. So either I would have to wander around aimlessly, or I would have to find someone –

Another explosion rocked the compound, this time slamming me into the wall and eliciting more curses from my battered mouth. I shoved off the wall, annoyed, and turned to the right. Well, I would just pick a way. And that was that.

I hadn't taken more than five steps when a klaxon suddenly began to wail, its eerie, urgent voice echoing off the metal walls. I stopped, momentarily startled, just listening to the siren screaming and watching the halogen lights bounce off the reflective surfaces all around me.

This wasn't going to get me anywhere.

But maybe the flashing panel in the wall off to my right would.

I stumbled over to the panel; it wasn't much, just a basic access panel that was intermittently flashing red, probably in accordance with the warning klaxon going off in my ears. But maybe…

I hit a key on the pad, and it stopped flashing red. A menu popped up; I scanned the list, passing down the basic energy and status readouts until I found what I wanted. The map.

It wasn't exactly a map – it was more like a schematic showing where the pipe this particular panel monitored went to. But it also showed where the other pipes in the near area went, and one of them went right to the square labeled "hangar."

I smiled, traced the path with my finger, and headed off in the direction of the hangar, the alarm still wailing above me. There were more explosions, each one louder and causing a bigger shockwave to follow it; I was thrown to the floor several more times, and now I believed without a doubt that the compound must be under attack.

My stomach dropped as I neared the location where the hangar should be. Now that I was actually here, what exactly was I going to do? Baka, I berated myself, I hadn't thought that far ahead. It had seemed important that I reach the pilots, but now I realized that if we were under attack, they were most likely gone, taking care of the situation. What exactly was my hanging around an empty hangar in my condition going to accomplish?

Another explosion rocked the hallway – I'd lost count of how many had hit a couple of minutes ago – and I grabbed the wall for support. That one had been closer than any of the others. Something big was happening. Screw it – I headed for the doors ahead of me, knowing that the hangar should be just beyond them.

I shoved them open and found myself standing on what seemed to be an access walkway, running along the edge of what did appear to be a mobile suit bay. It was huge and, surprisingly, not completely empty. There were two Gundams still housed in the bay, and what looked more like a tangle of wires and scaffolding and scattered parts than a third suit. I studied the two suits, trying to make out whose they were, mentally searching through the tech manuals until I found matches. They looked like Shenlong and Sandrock.

The nearby explosions – coming faster and with less time in between them now – echoed loudly off the walls, and I had to grab the walkway handrail in front of me to keep from being tossed to the floor again. The far doors had been opened, and through them I could see wisps of sand being tossed about by the wind; the doors opened up directly out into the desert, and sand was beginning to pile at the foot of the opening.

I looked up, beyond the piles of sand swirling about –

And saw the battle.

I started – that was why the explosions were so loud and violent in here. Because they were fighting *right outside* the hangar doors.

I could see the flash of the mobile suits as they danced their intricate battle just outside the doors, not more than 30 yards from the walkway on which I was standing. I squinted, leaning out over the railing, ignoring the protests from my stiff body as the hangar continued to shake with the explosions from the nearby altercation. I could just make out the bodies of two Gundams, and a mass of what appeared to be Virgo suits, from what I could recognize from the tech manuals. I couldn't see very clearly from here, though; there was too much sand and the suits were moving too fast for me to tell from here.

And there was another one, bigger, but it wasn't a Gundam… Its white frame glinted sharply in the sunlight, and I thought I could see a drawn beam saber in its hand… I raised one still somewhat-bandaged hand to shield my eyes from the flashes bouncing all around the hangar, partly from the sun and partly from the suits. They were so close that I could feel the heat that the flashes brought with them, and the sand was even beginning to whip up into my face as the explosions got louder.

The battle was so loud that I didn't hear the doors open behind me, or even notice the person who'd come through them until a firm hand encircled my right shoulder in an iron grip.

I jumped, startled, and swung my gaze around to see who had grabbed me, my other hand already balling up into a fist, as if that would do me any good. I blinked at my captor, and felt my fist go limp. It would definitely not do my any good, I thought, to hit Wufei Chang. And especially not the way he looked right now.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, his voice rising above the din of the suits just beyond the bay doors and the klaxons still just barely audible in the hallway beyond the open doors behind us.

Without waiting for an answer, he yanked me – painfully – out of the hangar and back into the hall, slamming the doors before whirling around and dragging me off down the hall, back the way I'd come. I could feel his fingers encircling my arm like a fiery shackle, the heat from his hand seeping through the bandages there. I kept tripping as he continued briskly down the hall, his strides long and agitated, not realizing that my legs were shorter and much less apt to obey my commands.

"Wufei… Wufei, slow down!"

He didn't listen to my plea, only continued down the hall until he reached my open door. He swung it fully open and brought his arm around, effectively flinging me into the room.

Only he didn't let go of my arm, and although I would've fallen his grip kept me mostly upright, and he yanked me back to my feet as he entered my room, closing – not slamming, to my surprise – the door behind him.

It was then that he released his grip on my arm; I immediately found my other hand reaching for the spot, instinctively covering the place where his hand had just been. My skin there felt suddenly cold and a shiver ran through my entire body as I stood there, staring at him as he scowled back at me with his back to the door.

"You were *told* to stay in here," he said, his tone harsh and biting and I winced at the sound of it.

"I… know. I wanted to see if I could help," I said slowly, my voice soft, trying not to get him any angrier with me than he obviously already was. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

His tone was flat, the biting edge suddenly gone and I looked up at him, almost curious as to the sudden change in his voice.

"Y… yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"Of course you meant to," he pointed out. "No one forced you to sneak out, did they?"

I stared at him. "No."

"Then don't say you didn't mean to."

"All right. I won't."

Something about him made me want to just melt into the floor – something about the way he got angry with me, or even just his *being* angry with me, made me feel… something. I couldn't name it, but it bordered on shame and worthlessness, and it made my stomach churn. I just wanted him to go away, to direct that dark gaze somewhere else, to speak to me without some form of anger or agitation in his voice, and especially not this sudden flat, emotionless tone that I remembered him suddenly using before, the last time I spoke with him.

That had been when he'd brought me soup, and dared me to get up, put my dishes away for myself. His voice had gone toneless then, too, hollow and empty-sounding when he'd told me not to be weak.

He didn't move, and neither did I. What was he doing? Why was he staying? He had no reason to stay – all he had to do was leave and lock the door behind him and he could be assured that I wouldn't leave again. So what was he doing?

"Aren't you going to –" I was cut off as another explosion threw me to the floor, landing on my hands again and muttering another curse at the jolt it sent up my limbs. I looked up to see him still standing as if nothing had happened.

I stood up and looked at him again, trying to match his sharp gaze with mine, but I crumpled under it and had to look away.

"Aren't I going to what?"

I looked up.

"What?"

"Aren't I going to what?" he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping that dark-eyed gaze trained on me until I felt like it was going to cut me down.

"Leave," I whispered. I had been about to ask him to leave. But despite that dagger-sharp gaze and angry expression that made me want to melt through the floor, something in me… Something in me didn't want him to leave. Was it because…

He did not make me feel safe. That couldn't be it – Quatre made me feel safe. Just because Wufei had carried me out of that hellhole, just because he was the one who riled me up enough to –

He looked at me.

"I wanted to know if you were going to leave. You don't need to stay," I said, forcing my voice to be firmer than my roiling stomach.

His eyes narrowed. "How do I know you won't try to escape again?"

"Lock the door behind you," I said matter-of-factly. "You know I can't get out."

He looked at me for a moment more, the silence hanging thickly between us. Actually, no. I did want him to leave. This was….

He walked over to the chair beside the bed – Quatre's chair – and sat down.

I blinked at him, sitting there on the chair as calm as anything while I stood stupidly in the middle of the room, one hand still on my arm, staring at him, dumbstruck.

I just couldn't figure him out.

"No, I don't. I don't think that a simple lock on a door would keep you in here if you wanted to get out." His voice was no longer emotionless, but… I suddenly couldn't tell if he was threatening me or complimenting me. And that bothered me.

As if he would compliment me, I reprimanded myself.

"Why…?"

He looked at me.
I shook my head slightly. I didn't know if that was the right question anymore. I doubted that if he did have a reason to be here, other than his distrust, that he would tell me about it.

"Where's Quatre?" I decided to ask, seeing as I would get no further questioning his motives.

Or was it that I didn't want to know them?

"I saw Sandrock in the hangar too, is he still here?"

"Why do you want *him*?" Wufei asked, distaste evident in his voice. Well, I knew he didn't see eye-to-eye with Quatre on, well, most everything. At least, that's how it had seemed up until now. I could still remember his voice, cold as ever, even as I was losing my grip on reality…

"What the hell are you *on*, Winner – she doesn't deserve to live. Obviously even Maxwell knew that."

"Why do I want Quatre?" I asked, blinking and shaking my head slightly, as if I could break the icy cold voice I heard in my memory and make it go away. "Why? Because he's *nice* to me, that's why. Because he *does* care if I live or die, and because he trusts me. Because he…because he doesn't make me feel so damn worthless." I stopped, my sudden burst of momentum gone as I finished, my voice so soft that I could barely hear it myself. I stared at Wufei, whose expression hadn't changed one bit, as if I hadn't said anything at all.

Then, "I make you feel worthless? Is *that* it? And Winner doesn't?"

I blinked at him. "Well… no. He doesn't." I couldn't believe I was having this conversation, and with Wufei of all people. My head was spinning and I couldn't make sense of my current situation. I wanted to sit down – I made my way over to my bed and dropped onto the mattress, my feet swinging over the ground.

And now the silence was back, thicker than before, and I just wanted out. But there was no way to get "out" – he wouldn't leave and I couldn't make him, and there was no way I could leave.

*Why* was he doing this?!

"Why *don't* you just leave?" I asked, the question of his motives suddenly beginning to grate on my nerves again, the churning in my stomach becoming almost too much to bear. I didn't want to be in here with him.

He looked at me, his face still betraying no expression.

"Because I don't trust you." That Goddamn empty voice again. And I just couldn't take it.

"Well, thank you," I snapped, "I already knew that."

"Well then why don't you do something about it?" he said, voice low, and suddenly he was standing in front of me, looking down as I sat on the bed through that familiar narrowed gaze.

I looked up at him, confused and a tad more than a little scared.

"Do something about it?" I asked, hearing my voice rise in anger despite the fear that was dancing around my stomach. I stood, my line of sight rising to his shoulders and I lifted my gaze, stared up into those cold eyes.

"What *can* I do about it? You come in here because you say Quatre makes you, you make me feel like I shouldn't even be alive, and then you leave. What the hell can I do about *that*?"

"You think you shouldn't be alive?"
I blinked. Why was he asking me *that*, of all things?

"That doesn't matter," I told him shortly. I didn't want to think about that, because the truth was…

"What matters is that I *am* alive and I am not going to just sit here while there's a battle going on *right outside*. I'm sick of recovering and I just wanted to help. Now just go away and lock the door and –"

"Do you think avoiding the subject is going to make things any easier?

I started and looked up at him, staring into those cold, dark eyes and wondering what the *hell* he was on -

"What?"

"Are you being so weak by choice?" His voice was condescending and definitely annoyed.

Great. Same old Wufei.

"Oh, leave me alone," I said, tired of dealing with this, tired of his presence making me feel so… so belittled. I pointed to the door, narrowing my gaze. I didn't want him in here anymore. After a moment of silence I turned and headed for the window, staring out at the whipping desert sands and pretending he wasn't in here.

"You *are* weak, then," I heard him mutter behind my back.

I whipped suddenly around to face him, for once not looking away from his narrowed onyx gaze.

"Is that all you care about?" I demanded. "Whether I'm weak or strong? Don't you have better things to worry about?"

"Hmph," he muttered. "Yes, baka, I do."

"Well then worry about them instead!" I spat, turning my back on him again, looking out the window at the sun and the sand and the perfectly cloudless blue sky once more. "You know, you said you didn't care if I lived or died," I said slowly, not turning around, addressing my half-reflection in the glass before me instead of his cold eyes. "But it seems to me like you only do anything when it comes down to something like that."

I could see his reflection in the window; his gaze narrowed further even as he calmly folded his arms across his chest. "Do I?" His tone was condescending and unnerving, riling me up like it seemed only he could do.

"Yes," I replied curtly, turning around to face him. "You *are* the one who carried me out of that hell, whether you like it or not." I paused. "And you – you were so insistent that I *do* something with myself – "

"What?"
"*You* dared me to get up and walk." I was nearly shouting now, fully ready to point all of this out for him, since he so obviously needed me to. "You're the one standing here now, telling me not to be weak – why don't you just kill me or leave me alone? Since you can't settle for anything in between?"

There was a heavy, cold silence in the room. I suddenly wanted to fall back, melt through the glass and become part of those swirling sand dunes outside, if it meant escape from his icy gaze here and now.

"You can be weak," he finally said, his voice low and not without a threat beneath it," or you can be strong. You choose. I am only here to see justice served, be it to you, or Maxwell, or that OZ –"

"Why does it always come down to this?" I asked, my voice rising again and I didn't care that I'd interrupted him. "You're skirting the issue as much as I am! Weak or strong, that *is* all you care about. Is *justice* the only thing you can stand for?"

He blinked. "Yes," he said, his voice heavy with certainty. And… something else, something that settled in the pit of my stomach and made me uneasy, shook me to the core. Something I couldn't even name.

Silence reigned once more.

"I don't need any of your justice," I said finally, unable to stand the silence any longer. "Go away." I narrowed my eyes, knowing it wouldn't intimidate him but I was so *angry* -

"*Now*."

"Listen," he said, his voice now *very* threatening and he didn't move, let alone turn and leave, "and listen well. I refuse to put up with some pathetic, weak *onna* who has nowhere to turn but Winner's charity. And you don't know a thing about *justice*."

"Put *up* with?! Put up with – no one said you had to put up with me, *Chang*." My voice was amazingly calm; I couldn't hear anything for the anger screaming through my head.

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am. And I'm going to be. So. Deal. With. It." I spat, feeling my insides seethe with something far beyond anger now. I narrowed my eyes and stared at him, wishing for the power to overwhelm him.

Of course, I had no such power. He just continued to stand there, the anger evident on his sharp features.

"I don't care what you think," I told him.

He looked up at me, dark eyes blazing cold and I couldn't read his face.

"And you listen – I don't need to meet your approval," I went on, my words rushing out one after another, fueled by the angry fire only growing hotter inside me. "But you keep on making me feel like I do. So just stop it. If this life – if this place – isn't good enough for you then find someplace else. I wish I could say I didn't care but I do, because…"

I stopped. Why *did* I care? I didn't know myself, and there was no point in lying to him.

"Because I don't know," I admitted. "All I know is I do, and I shouldn't, because you're nothing but callous and even cruel to me, so I *don't* know why I care so damned much what you think." I stopped, annoyed with myself for a million different reasons.

His cool voice broke the silence. "I thought you just said you *didn't* care what I thought."

"I did, didn't I?" I snapped, partly out of anger towards him, partly out of anger towards myself. "Well, take your pick, I can act out either choice for you, *sir*." I pushed past him and dropped onto my bed once more.

A pause, a heavy silence.

"I don't understand you."

I looked up. "Great. Welcome to the club." I sighed, putting my head in my hands. He was getting to me. He was…

He was winning. And I couldn't let him win –

Not like I had almost let Duo win. But I didn't know what else to do. Maybe I *was* so weak…

"Look, just go away. Leave me alone and let me pretend that you don't bother me."

"Pretending will get you nowhere. It's just a lie."

I looked up. "Do I look like I really care? You're just a lie too, Chang. A very good, very set lie that likes to spout 'justice' ten times a day. But you're a lie nonetheless. Just like Heero. You can't do anything else to get though this war. Fine, I can't blame you. But leave me out of it. I've got enough problems on my own, if you hadn't noticed."

I glared at the wall over to my left, not wanting to look at him anymore.

How could I preach to him about being a lie, when I was nothing but one myself…?

"I can see why you and Maxwell fell for each other in the first place," he remarked dryly, and my head snapped around as I stared at him through still-narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"You're both so damned good at deluding yourselves."

"*Excuse me*?!" What was he going on about *now*?

"There's a war on, onna," he said, and his tone had suddenly sounded almost weary and beaten, although his features showed no such thing.

"I know that," I replied shortly. He didn't have to point out the obvious, although I had noticed that he seemed to have an excellent knack for it.

"No, you don't," he said, his condescending tone back and I could do nothing but blink at him in shock. What the hell did he mean, I didn't -?

"First off, you're too wrapped up in your own problems. And secondly, you're too busy trying to pretend things are going to be all right, when they're not," he continued, voice still firm and condescending. "You're too busy thinking things will just work out to care about what's really going on."

He stopped, and I just sat and looked at him.

"You'll both sit there and take all the shit that gets thrown at you, and you just smile back." His voice had gotten softer, and he was no longer looking straight at me; I got the feeling that his eyes were focused on the wall behind my head, rather than on my face.

*I* didn't remember smiling back anytime recently.

He blinked and his eyes focused once more, sharp and staring into mine. "At least I don't delude myself. I don't believe I'm so high that this war can't affect anything that touches me. I'd have thought you would have learned that by now." He motioned to my scarred arms.

I felt my eyes narrow again, felt the anger churning in my stomach. *Was* he so perfect, now? And I had been trying to *help*, who was he to say I didn't care about the outcome of this war –

"And who's having delusions of grandeur now, huh?" I spat. " 'I am here to see justice served' – justice doesn't exist. Not the kind you're talking about. The kind that *does* exist is called revenge, and you've let it suck you in. You've let it corrupt you and turn you into something less that human. Something colder. Something more like that boy out there that calls himself Heero Yuy. A perfect soldier. And a crappy human being."

I couldn't stand to look at his face any longer, and so I chose the floor to stare at instead.

A cold silence crept into the room, like a freezing mist creeping along the ground and swirling up until it had encompassed the whole room in its icy grip. I couldn't even hear him *breathing* over the silent static hissing in my ears.

Until he had grabbed my shirt and physically *yanked* me off the bed – his face rushed up to mine and I couldn't even grasp what was going on for an instant –

"*Don't*," he said, his voice low and menacing and suddenly for an instant I wondered if he *was* going to kill me, "lecture me on how to be a human being."

Time froze. My mind froze. All I could feel was his first, holding me there, and my shock, coursing through me as if it were my blood –

The first thing to move was my right fist, followed by my left, two punches aimed right at his face.

I fell back on my feet as his hand disappeared –

*Slap, slap!*

He stood, one palm on either side of his face, my punches perfectly blocked, and looked down at me with those onyx eyes. But there was something different sparkling in that gaze – not annoyance, or even anger, as I had been expecting.

What the *hell* had I just done –

He said nothing as his hands dropped to his sides; my fists dropped with them. I thought his eyes were going to kill me.

"I'm… I'm sorry – I didn't mean –" I stammered, knowing it wouldn't do any good but I didn't know what else I *could* do, short of running…

"What did I tell you," he said, his voice and his eyes hollow again and I wanted to die, "about apologizing?"

I didn't hear the door close as he left.