Oh Plot Bunny Files! #4: Ashes, Ashes
By: rainjewel
Disclaimer: I don't own a dang thing, unfortunately. If I did, there'd be no need for this fanfic or any other of my illustrious *laughs* works.
Author's Note: I have a plot bunny with chapters. This truly is a monstrosity. ~_^
~*~
"Master Quatre?"
I'm not home.
"Please, it's very urgent, Sir."
Must. Get. Out. Of. Bed.
Quatre opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. He'd never slept so long before. It felt wonderful. He pulled himself out of bed and padded over to his door.
"What is it?" he asked. He opened his door to find his housekeeper standing before him.
"Master Quatre, there's a call from a…General Une on the holophone in your office," said the woman, trying not to trip over her words.
Une…oh no. Quatre's world came crashing down. Suddenly all of last night's events leapt up like enemy soldiers in his memory. The fire, the horror—the look of pure agony on Duo's face. The small blonde leaned against the doorframe.
"T-tell her I'll be right there. Thank you for the message," he said. The servant curtsied and left. Quatre drew himself together like a good Gundam pilot. It was time to be strong.
What in Allah's name am I going to say?
Scratching his head and frowning, Quatre marched down the stairs. He walked into his office and turned to the holophone. Une's face was blank.
"Good morning," he said politely.
"Isn't it a little late to still be sleeping, Mr. Winner?" barked the general, eyeing Quatre's pajamas and tousled hair.
"My schedule was cleared until 12:35 p.m. today because of last night's events, so I took advantage of the situation," Quatre replied.
Une's face softened. "Forgive me, Quatre. I forget that you aren't responsible for last night's actions."
"Duo is not to blame either. I don't know why the orphanage was damaged—"
"Obliterated."
Quatre winced. "Yes…but it wasn't due to any lack of skill on Duo's behalf."
"I need to find that out for myself," replied the general. "I called you so I could get a hold of him."
"What? Duo has his own line you know," Quatre said. He was irritated and saddened.
"I know. But neither his phone nor his communicator is connected. I need you to bring him to me."
"Duo needs to be left alone. Do you have any idea how he feels after—"
"Mr. Winner! I do not care how he feels! Honestly, I expected more from a Gundam pilot!" Une's face dropped. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. Please, have Duo contact me within the half-hour."
The screen blipped black. Quatre sighed. "Oh Duo…"
He went to the American's bedroom. Quatre knocked a few times and called to Duo before trying the doorknob. To his surprise it actually worked.
"Duo?" he asked, stepping into the room. He looked around. The bed was untouched. The TV remote lay on the floor. Quatre turned around and saw the missing jacket.
What has he done now?
~*~
Heero grimaced as another steel-toed boot connected with his thigh. Duo flailed in his arms, screaming for a girl named Hannah. Grunting with exertion, he managed to wrap an arm around the American's upper arms to stop the thrashing. He could hardly see as ashes flew through the air, choking him.
He had almost made his way to his car when Duo suddenly stopped fighting. The boy became deadweight and his screams stopped, though he never ceased talking.
"I killed her. I killed them all. I am the murderer of children," Duo murmured. 'I killed Kenneth. I killed Hannah. I am the murderer of children."
Heero's heart twisted. Duo's shock was finally wearing thin. The boy had lasted longer than he'd originally thought. Good. He wrenched the car door open and put Duo in the front seat of the vehicle. The braided pilot slumped against the window and curled his hands into fists. His arms shuddered and flexed.
"Quiet Duo. Calm down," Heero said, climbed into the driver's seat. He started the car and took off.
"I killed eighty-six children, twenty-three of them infants. I killed them and I saved none. I never could save anyone," Duo said, his soft mumbling continuing. He flexed his arm again and Heero saw blood drip from a nasty cut on the boy's arm.
Heero frowned. Shit, that's a slit vein.
"Damn it Duo," he said. He reached over and expertly pinched the back of Duo's neck. Immediately the pilot's violet eyes slammed shut and he collapsed on Heero's arm. The Japanese boy pulled the sleeping form towards him, resting Duo's head in his lap. He stroked the boy's silky brown braid.
"Shh Duo, I'm here," Heero said softly. "Everything will be just fine."
~*~
"Quatre!"
Quatre's blonde head peered up over his laptop. He'd been searching for Duo's whereabouts. Had someone just called his name? He still had forty-five minutes before his first meeting. He shuddered. To think he had meetings after last night.
"Quatre!"
The Arabian was out of his chair almost instantaneously. There was no mistaking that voice. He ran to the front hall and was greeted by Heero, who was carrying a dirty, unconscious—
"Duo!" Quatre cried.
"There you are. Get all the bandages and antiseptic you have and meet me in his room," Heero said.
"Is he hurt?" Quatre asked.
"Not badly. Now go," Heero said, starting his way up the stairs.
Quatre nodded and ran to the bathroom. Quickly he gathered up the first-aid supplies and then dashed up the stairs, absently wondering how Heero knew where Duo's bedroom was.
"I have the bandages," he said, rushing over to the bed where Heero had laid Duo down. Quatre gasped at the sight of the disheveled pilot. His entire body was filthy and his shirt was ripped down to rags. There was a long deep gash down his arm and both of his hands were burned.
"Hand me the antiseptic," Heero said. Quatre did.
"I thought you said he wasn't hurt badly," whispered the pale boy.
Heero cleaned the wound on Duo's arm. "He isn't. There's only this gash, the burns on his hands, and a handful of cuts and bruises on his back. Other than that he's fine."
Quatre watched in shocked silence as Heero continued to work. Without realizing it, a few sparkling tears found there way down his face.
"Where…where did you find him?" he asked.
Heero paused. "He was at the destruction site, posing as a rescue worker."
It was as if Heero had just shot him in the heart.
Quatre slumped to the floor, closing his eyes. A feeling of immense sorrow washed over him, and he clutched his chest. As if squeezing his heart to death would solve anything.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Quatre looked up into Heero's eyes.
"He'll be awake in a few hours. I'll be back by then. Go to your meetings," said the Japanese boy.
"How in the world can I do that?" Quatre asked, tears running down his face. He really wished Trowa were here.
"Because today you're going to be discussing the economy of L2. Duo grew up there," Heero said.
"He did? That place is a mess!" Quatre asked, unbelieving. "It's beyond help."
"Then you better do a damn good job at that meeting," Heero said. He turned and walked out the door.
~*~
Duo felt strange. His body felt lighter than it usually did, and he was weak. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was because he'd been running for so long. But he didn't know why he was running in this strange familiar land, or what he was running to. Maybe he was running away from someone. Whatever the case, Duo found that his legs were pumping under him at a speed borne only from desperation.
The city he was in was filthy. The tall buildings moaned with each breeze and garbage covered the streets. Urchins, whores, and drug dealers were everywhere. None of their faces had defined features. Duo flinched at this and looked down. His breath hitched as he saw the front of his faded gray shirt. It was covered in blood. For some reason he wasn't surprised.
Rounding a corner, Duo saw black smoke rising in the sky and he suddenly understood why he was running.
The mobile suits were gone already, but the metallic smell of their battle still wafted through the air, along with the stench of blood and scorched flesh.
Duo reached the site of the destruction. Immediately he scrambled among the bricks, his young lungs gasping for breath. The flames licked at his clothes, but he ignored them.
"Father Maxwell! Sister Helen!" he called out frantically, though a small part of him knew all was lost. "It's Duo! Father! Sister"
He scurried from pile to pile looking at the bodies of his peers. There was Maria, who had always sang the solos for the choir, her pretty black hair scorched. Beside her lay Jordan, the boy who'd always made the girls swoon. Not any more, Duo thought. He wasn't upset; he had never gotten close to his of his fellow orphans, finding that people came and went to closely. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were all that mattered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Duo saw white on black. "Sister Helen!"
Within a blink of an eye, he was over the rocks, passing a little too closely by a fire and burned his shoulder. He knelt down by the fallen nun. Sister Helen's eyes were closed. For the first time he saw the blonde hair that spilled out from under the habit.
"Oh Sister," he said, knowing that this entire massacre was his fault. Duo leaned down and gathered the woman in his frail arms. He buried his face in the cloth of her robes, dry sobs racking his body.
"Duo…"
He whipped his head up. "Sister?"
Those kind eyes fluttered. "Duo…thank the Lord, you're alive."
"I'm sorry, Sister. I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I did this, I did all of this."
"No child, no," Sister Helen said. With obvious pain she raised a hand and cupped his face. "Beautiful Duo. I've loved you so. Father Maxwell did too. Never doubt that child, never."
"I love you too," Duo sobbed. Sister Helen's eyes slid shut and her touch weakened. He clutched her tightly. "Don't go Sister, please. Please don't leave me."
"I'm sorry, but I must," she whispered. "Get away from here child, it's not safe. May angels watch over you."
He shook his head. "No! Don't!"
Sister Helen's gentle hand slid from his cheek. Her body went lax in his grip.
Duo cried out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he bowed his head and whispered every prayer he knew. Our Father's and Hail Mary's dripped from his mouth along with his tears. He sat there, rocking back and forth with her body in his arms, sobbing into her bloodied habit.
Finally, the shouts and footsteps of soldiers disturbed his grief. Duo looked up, his face streaked with dirt and tears. With a quiet goodbye he looked to Sister Helen.
Only to find that the beloved woman was no longer there. Stifling a scream, Duo dropped the body and scrambled backwards, scratching his hands against the brick and glass.
Before him lay a small child with brown eyes. She wore a blue sweater with the name "Hannah" blazing across its front.
~*~
Heero walked through the door with weary eyes. He slipped out of his jacket and went into Quatre's office. He allowed a sigh to escape his lips as he placed the papers on the blonde Arabian's desk for later reading. He made a mental note to erase all the memory of his previous hacking…he'd used Sally Po's code and he didn't think she'd be too pleased if she was accused of sneaking into top secret government files.
It was sad to think that they were government files.
Quatre was going to throw a fit. Absently Heero looked around for a Kleenex box, making sure there was one in the room. Rising to his feet, he searched the office for weapons. He found a gun and a rapier. He carefully hid them in another room. Quatre wasn't exactly…stable when he was extremely upset.
Heero fingered his cell phone, wondering if he should call Trowa again. He didn't know why the boy even had a phone. He was never in his trailer. Heero remembered the nights when Trowa would slip away to sleep in the lion's cage, his heart troubled. The tall boy seemed to find the answers to his terrible questions when he lay amongst the snoring beasts.
Too bad the lions don't have their own number, Heero thought. Then his eyebrow twitched. But someone else does.
Quickly he scanned Quatre's address book. With an inward smile he punched the number into his phone.
"Hello!" answered the chipper voice.
"Hello Cathrine," he said. "I need to talk to Trowa."
"He's not here. Perhaps you should try his trailer,"
"He's not there. I need you to get him."
The voice was strong and shrill. "Who is this?"
Heero winced. "Heero. Heero Yuy."
"Oh." There was a long pause. "I'll go get him."
"Thank you Cathrine," Heero said. Mission Complete.
A few minutes later Trowa's velvet voice came through.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"Nowhere important."
"Can you come to the Winner Mansion?"
"I…"
Heero looked at the papers. "Quatre's going to need you."
"I'll be there in two and half hours."
"I'll make sure there's a car for you."
The line went dead.
Heero smiled. The magic word of the day is "Quatre."
He slipped out of the office and went to Duo's room. Silently he opened the door and looked to the still form in the bed. The ex-pilot was curled around a white pillow, his hands clutching it so tightly his knuckles were white. The reddened bandages that marred his bare back hurt Heero's eyes. The American's lips were moving at an incredibly fast rate. Heero came to the edge of the bed and knelt.
Duo suddenly moaned, but then resumed his whispers.
"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your Name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins
as we forgive those who sin against us. Do not bring us to the test but deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and for ever."
Heero recoiled as if struck. Duo never prayed. He was the God of Death. Gods don't pray to other gods. He reached out, gently touching a hand to Duo's lips as if to silence them. The American pilot paused and breathed in deeply then poured another prayer forth, his lips flying against Heero's palm.
He lifted his hand, a small frown on his face. He rocked back on his heels and stood, looking over Duo. It would take roughly another half-hour until the ex-Deathscythe pilot came fully around. He needed to go take a shower (digging was dirty business) and he had to think of what he was going to say to the braided boy when he woke up.
Heero turned and walked out through the door. He had just turned the shower on when he heard the scream.
~*~
Trowa stepped off of the plane, trying his damndest not break out in a run towards the Winner limousine. Thoughts of Quatre filled his head. None of them were good. Heero was here, and Trowa found it hard to believe anything could be a good thing if the Japanese pilot thought it serious enough for him to come out of hiding.
At the baggage terminal, a young man in a suit came up to Trowa. A small "W" was embroidered on his lapel. He recognized him as the chauffeur.
"Mr. Barton?" asked the black-capped man. Trowa nodded, reaching out and grabbing his one duffel bag.
"Please come with me," said the chauffeur after a pause. Trowa said nothing and strode forward in front of the man. He wanted to be in that car now.
With hidden impatience he waited for the man to take his bag and open the door for him. He gracefully slid into the backseat. The chauffeur started the car.
"Where is Quatre?" he asked politely.
"Uh…I'm not supposed to release that information," said the man.
Trowa's worry increased tenfold. He felt sweat trickle down his back. "That's understandable."
He took out a long throwing knife of Cathrine's that he'd brought with him and began turning it over in his hands, adding in fancy flicks and tosses when he felt like it.
He did this for a whole minute and half, feeling weak for resorting to this.
"So, where's Quatre?" he asked.
The chauffeur folded. "He's in the city, discussing some colony's economy."
"Take me there."
Trowa frowned at himself as the car accelerated. Within ten minutes the limousine swung around in front of one of the tall buildings of Winner Enterprises. Trowa bounded from the car and told the driver to take his bag to the Mansion. He would go home with Quatre.
Quickly he walked into the building. The secretary popped up her pretty head. Trowa recognized her as one of Quatre's sisters. Her dark Arabic features said it all.
"Can I help you, Sir?" she asked. Trowa paused, quelled his annoyance. Her nametag read "Mylaré."
"My name is Trowa Barton," he said. "Where's Quatre?"
The woman didn't blink. "Barton? I remember Quatre mentioning you. He's in a meeting. You can't see him yet, but I'm sure he'll be out in fifteen minutes or so."
"What floor is he on?" Trowa asked.
"I can't reveal that information, Sir," she said, looking back to her computer. She clacked away on her keyboard.
Trowa was beginning to really hate those words. "Then I'll find it myself."
Mylaré looked up from her monitor. "Wait, that won't be necessary. Trowa Barton, you have clearance. He's on the fifth floor, third door down on your left."
"…Oh. Thanks."
"I need a signature," she said, holding up a document. She held out a pen to him.
Trowa took the pen. "Sorry."
"There's no need to apologize. You're just lucky I thought to check you out," Mylaré said.
Trowa nodded and signed the paper. Then he turned and dashed up the stairs, foregoing the elevator. He reached the fifth floor. Trowa looked up and down the halls and saw no one. Somewhat satisfied, he picked out a shadowed doorway from which the diplomats would pass once finished with their meeting and hid in the darkness it provided.
He really didn't need to be hidden; Trowa just hated being conspicuous.
Seven minutes and thirty-six seconds later, he heard the door open. Smart men with wearied eyes filed tiredly past him, punching numbers into cell phones and shuffling the papers in their hands.
Trowa waited patiently for Quatre. The blonde Arabian didn't come.
Six minutes and seventeen seconds later, Trowa's curiosity and anxiety got the better of him. Carefully he rounded the corner and walked into the conference room.
Sitting in a chair, back bent with his beautiful little golden head against the table, was Quatre. His arms lay slack against the wood. Sitting at the far end of the table with a curious expression on her face was Relena Dorlian.
"Good afternoon, Vice Foreign Minister Dorlian," Trowa said. He looked at her out of politeness, then locked his eyes on Quatre. The boy's sea-colored eyes were closed and his mouth was slack. His skin was pale…much too pale.
Relena's eyes focused and a look of surprise crossed her face. "I didn't expect you to be here. Hello Trowa, it's good to see you. And please, call me Relena."
"What," he asked, motioning to the sleeping Winner heir, "Happened here?"
"I don't quite know," Relena said with a ghost of a smile. "After the meeting he was worrying over all the progress we didn't make, then he simply laid his head down on the desk and I think he just fell asleep. Very odd, don't you think?"
"Perhaps," Trowa said. He gently walked over to where Quatre was sitting and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Quatre," he said. "Wake up little one."
The blonde didn't stir. Trowa frowned inwardly. As an ex-Gundam pilot he was surprised Quatre's reflexes weren't kicking in. However, he wasn't going to press the issue.
Relena stood and walked over to the little Arabian, looking down on him with fond eyes. She ran a finger down the back of his head. "He's really worked up over the situation in L2. He tried to get a week's worth of work finished in three hours. And now with this mess of the poor orphanage everything has had to be shoved to the back burner. Trowa, please take care of him. Tell him that I'll handle the orphanage situation. He seems to be lost."
As we all are.
Trowa looked at Relena with appreciation. "You're a strong woman, Relena. Thank you."
"Thank you as well. If it weren't for all of you, none of my dreams will ever be realized," Relena said. With that she turned and left the room.
Trowa looked down to Quatre. He walked over to the holophone. Reading off a list, he typed in the extension. Mylaré's face popped up on the screen.
"Qu—Mr. Barton?" said the shocked secretary.
"Mr. Winner is preoccupied at this moment and will probably remain that way for the rest of the day. Can representatives fill in for the rest of his duties?" Trowa said. He hoped his "clearance" carried a lot of weight.
"Sir, I'm not supposed—"
"You're baby brother is passed out at the table due to exhaustion," Trowa said. "I think he needs a small break."
Mylaré nodded. "It can't be helped. Get him home."
"Please call the limousine." Trowa said. He flicked off the screen.
Kat, what is wrong? He thought to himself. The kind of sleep Quatre was in wasn't one from total exhaustion. At least, not from one physically. There weren't any telltale signs. No, this was more of a…Trowa's eyebrows twitched as the realization hit him. This was more of a spiritual thing. The green-eyed boy almost smacked himself over the head for being so careless.
Gently he picked Quatre up in his arms. "Of course, my little empathetic one, how could I have forgotten?"
Quatre half-mumbled, half-whimpered in his slumber and curled like a cat in Trowa's arms. The ex-Heavyarms pilot adjusted his hold and then went downstairs and out the back. The limousine was waiting for him as promised.
Trowa practically glided into the vehicle, trying to disturb the Winner heir as little as possible. "Home, now. Step on it," he said.
The tires squealed and Trowa found himself frowning again.
~*~
Duo's eyes snapped open and he woke to a scream. He jumped out of his bed—Bed? How did I get here?—and whipped his head around looking for the sound. Another scream sounded after another. The sound seemed to originate from right in the room, but he couldn't make anything out. Another agonized screech reverberated around the room and Duo covered his ears sinking to the floor.
Suddenly the door burst open. Deafened by the sound of the screaming Duo looked up at Heero with pained eyes and saw the Japanese boy mouth his name.
But the vision only lasted a second longer as Duo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the screaming. He wanted to call out to Heero for help, but his throat seemed so raw he couldn't talk.
Suddenly two strong hands were on his shoulders and Duo felt himself being shaken for all he was worth. The screaming became more like shrieks and sobs. He felt himself running out of breath. Nothing had ever sounded more pained in his entire life. Then a hand clamped down on his mouth and Duo was pushed back and slammed against the ground, one arm pinning his shoulders.
The screaming stopped. Duo found he couldn't breathe.
Feeling hysterical he opened his eyes and tried to fight off whoever was pinning him. Shockingly enough, Heero's blurred face hovered above his, and for once there was a hint of…fear? in his blue eyes. The Japanese boy removed his hand from Duo's mouth and snatched the American's flailing arms. Duo heard sobs again and began twitching violently.
"Duo!" Heero screamed in his face.
The American pilot locked his eyes on Heero's and wondered why his face felt welt.
"Calm down, damnit!" Heero yelled again. Duo closed his eyes and tried to block out the sobbing. Gritting his teeth together, the sounds miraculously hushed, leaving only the sound of his heaving breath.
And then he finally realized that the screaming and the sobs had been his own.
"Oh God," he moaned softly. His energy left him, but his body seemed to not pay attention. His abused lungs began to hyperventilate, wracking his body with painful spasms as he gasped for air.
"Just breathe, Duo," Heero said from above him. Duo fought hard with his own body, and finally managed to relax a little more. His body stopped its spasms, but he still felt the need to gasp in large amounts of air. Heero, looking a little worried sat back up and pulled Duo into a sitting position. The American slumped against the wall.
Duo sat and stared at Heero for a long time, piecing together what had transpired. The other boy watched him with unblinking eyes.
The orphanage. The one they blew up because I stole—no, the one I destroyed. The eighty-six children I went to help, to help Sister…Hannah. To help Hannah but the sky fell—the building fell and I was pulled away. I was—he pulled me away. He pulled me away and left Hannah to die and let the murderer live.
Duo's eyes burned as a surge of guilty anger ran through him. "You bastard!" he screamed. His right punch sailed out as he launched his body at Heero. The Japanese boy deftly caught his fist and remained brick-sturdy as Duo slammed into him, screaming, "You let her die!"
"I wasn't going to let you die," Heero said. His tone was final.
And just like that, the energy was gone again. Duo crumpled, his arms dropping to catch himself as he bowed his head to the floor. He felt his forehead brush Heero's knees.
"Why? You know what I am? Oh God, God knows what I've done," he whispered. "I took revenge on the ones I was supposed to protect…the ones I was supposed to avenge. I…I…I am the murderer—"
"Stop that," came Heero's flat dead voice.
Duo obeyed out of habit. Tears threatened replace his words, but he held them back, causing his body to shake violently.
…Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultallmyfaultmyfault…
Heero grabbed Duo's shoulders and pulled the boy up to a kneeling position. Duo rested his hands on his knees.
…Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault…
Duo saw Heero look into his eyes, reading him. "You weren't properly informed, Duo," he said.
Duo fought for focus. "W-what?"
"You were set up," Heero explained. "There was a secret base operating out of the orphanage consisting of ex-White Fang soldiers. The Preventors knew, Duo. They placed explosives in the building that would be triggered when the bombs you set detonated. It was a set up."
"I—I don't understand," Duo said, looking at Heero's blank face. Set up?
"Yes you do," Heero said.
Duo stared. His mind whirred madly. He'd been set up, used as a tool.
"The Preventors used me to blow up innocent children?" he whispered. Heero nodded. "The knowingly let me murder eighty-six kids?"
There was a slight wince from the Perfect Soldier.
Duo looked at his hands, finally seeing the bandages on the burns and the gauze on his arm. The sorrow he felt transformed into a blind rage. He rose slowly to his feet, his shaking quelled. Heero stood up.
"Duo…"
The American looked at Heero with somewhat dead eyes. Didn't Heero always keep a gun against the small of his back…yes, there it was. The door was only a miniscule five feet away.
Suddenly Duo sprang past Heero. With quick thief's hands he snatched up the gun from where it was pressed against the Japanese boy's back. Heero wheeled sharply and reached out to grab his arm, but Duo danced away, a bright light shining from his eyes.
I am Shinigami, the God of Death. Those who cross me are damned.
He turned and dashed down the stairs, remembering to flip his braid over his shoulder so that Heero couldn't catch it. With a fitting demon's speed, he skidded across the hall, feeling Heero's feet pounding a heartbeat behind him.
Duo began giggling hysterically. The Perfect Soldier is chasing me. Doesn't Shinigami usually chase the soldiers?
In five seconds he was out the door, down the steps, and in the garage. He knew that if he faltered for just a moment, Heero would be on him, the gun gone, and the chance lost. It made him feel giddy.
Come and get me, Heero. You wanna test Shinigami?
He leapt onto a red motorcycle and switched it on. Gunning the engine, he took off, just in time to see Heero grab his own bike. Duo smiled and rode as fast as he could.
He didn't even notice he was crying.
~*~