The End of a Mystery
Chapter Eight
I believe that this will be the final chapter of my fic. I have a great idea for another one and I'm anxious to get it down before it gets lost in the back of my head again.
Now, I can't say if this is out of character and to be frank, neither can you. So there. You never know, the Gundam pilots and other characters- that is, if they were real-might actually be feeling these things if the circumstances posted here occurred. If you flame me, that's great. I love mail of any kind (except a few kinds) and I'd just be tickled pink if it annoyed you enough to give you the sudden urge to write me a nasty e-mail, complete with lots of swearing and poor grammar. So fire away, you dastardly bastards! Hit me with your best shot!
p.s.-to those who've been waiting, I'm sorry about the long delay. You see, I started Spat camp about a week and a half ago and Spat camp, as we all know, keeps the entire world on hold, not to mention giving us one hell of a farmer's tan. We none of us have any choice in our lives but one; whether or not to bow to the inevitable-and I've bowed to this inevitable, so without further ado.
Chapter Eight--------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
Two powerful mobile suits sped away from Treize Kushrenada's space fortress, twin balls of blazing light-and the eternal night closed behind them once again, the widening distance making them into silent and brightly shining stars. The terrible aspects of each were disguised by the folds of merciful darkness that were spread across all the wilderness of space, making them instead into something both sweet and sad, like the last tremulous note of a show, where all the players and all the actors know that they will never truly play again except in their glory-dazed memories. So peaceful a sight it was, so still, that but for the sight of the blue planet in the distance, one would assume that there was nothing more in the world. In the three ships resided chaos of different sorts, in each a secret bursting to be found or told or realized, in each a suffocating intensity, an internal warmth, a surging tide of energy that can only be found in the most critical times. The moment of decision was at hand.
Duo laughed wildly, releasing into the cockpit of his Gundam the hilarity that he had kept so determinedly suppressed as the rush of white-hot adrenaline thrilled through his body. He had grinned in Treize's regal face as he had left him tied to the bed in which they'd kept his buddy. He had left the doctors-those two old chattering hens of doctors! -tied hand and foot with IV's! Pumped so full of their own bizarre mix of drugs that they had gone into hysterics at the sight of the florescent lamp and had started screaming that they were going to be boiled by the sun. At this Heero had given them a queer look and had proceeded to dispassionately stuff socks pulled off their own horned feet into their mouths. The two unsuccessful guards they had left in their boxers and undershirts, unconscious, stacked in front of the door like so much dead weight.
Treize would remember this day for a long while to come, and Duo hoped he burned with humiliation at the very thought. He alone of his retinue had been left conscious and fully aware of what was happening around him.
But the funniest part about the whole affair was this; after dealing with the various evil minions of Oz, Heero had found on Treize himself, the key to the door-the very key that allowed the door to be locked from the outside, making it an effective prison. The cameras in the room, Duo had left alone, knowing that if any experts were sent for to study the footage, they would also become witnesses to the easy way the Gundam Pilots-one even still dizzy from various toxins that had been pumped through him-had dealt with both them and their leader.
It was a beautiful day to be him, thought Duo, intoxicated with his success. He'd rescued Heero, humiliated Treize-Wufei would be so jealous- and had likely just started the demoralization of the entire Oz community. Now they would go back to the ship to meet with the others again, have Sally patch Heero up, although those Oz quacks seemed to have done a good job with that, and then find Quatre and storm the White Fang. Heero would have his princess since, strangely enough, that's what he seemed to want and Duo would be able to assuage the suffocating guilt that had torn at him since about five minutes after Heero left. The White Fang would be destroyed, the Diplomat saved, and the loony Zechs Marquise properly taken care of. Not to mention that Catalonia girl-she had to have a major roll in this whole fiasco; she had the evil genius roll down pat.
Over the link Duo could see Heero's pale, serious face. It gave away nothing. His tongue was mute, his motions just as dispassionate as usual, but a bit tighter on his left side. If he blamed Duo for getting him captured, he did not show it. If he forgave him for his hand-to-gun instincts, he did not say it. He was just as he had always been, and for that Duo was both grateful and frustrated. It would be swell if they could just pretend none of this had ever happened-and after all, it had happened before, and he had saved Heero then too-and continue on with their lives, as unpleasant as they sometimes were. But it frustrated him, though he hated to admit it, that Heero wouldn't respond to him. Duo was, after all, his buddy, and as such, Heero should care if Duo shot him. He shouldn't just ignore it, like he'd been shot by a total stranger. He should yell, for crying out loud, and get mad at Duo, and maybe give him a split lip to go with his mangled neck. Maybe he understood why Duo had done it-he'd been strangling him!-but even so, it just wasn't right for him not to care. It wasn't. natural.
'Ah, well.' Duo's mind cleared. Heero was Heero, thus strange. 'That's just the way he is, Mr. Perfect Soldier. It would probably kill him to smile and he'd be offended if someone told him he should get mad. But what am I complaining for? I've seen him mad before; I wonder if I'd live a second time?' And this thought, like every other, made him smile to himself in amusement. It really wasn't a funny thing to think about but Duo couldn't help smiling now with his present good feelings and his overall self-mocking attitude. He laughed out loud again, unsure why, and not caring in the least.
'To hell with it! To hell with all these little mental whatevers! Ha! I am Duo Maxwell, Shinigami, the God of Death, and this is my Gundam, and this is my world, and this is my life! To hell with tomorrow! To hell with Oz and White Fang and nightmares and Dorothy Catalonia's eyebrows!' And he laughed maniacally right in Heero's face over the link, laughing even harder at the expression on Heero's Gundam tinted face-a true study on Heeroishism; bland, grim, determined, glaring nothing. Without moving a single muscle in his face he managed to display every one of the many emotions in his extensive arsenal and not a single one of them friendly.
Tears of pure and helpless mirth poured down Duo's face and he tried helplessly to fight another wave of hysteric laughter, but he knew he'd lose and gave in almost immediately, closing his eyes just so he wouldn't have to see Heero's stupid face; then how would he ever stop laughing? He had no idea why he was laughing at all-it was all so stupid. He'd shot his buddy, who had almost paid for Duo's mistake with his life-it would have been better that Duo had allowed Heero to strangle him to death rather than that chilling possibility-and then, rescuing him he'd acted like a complete fool and had left Treize conscious-all it would take would be a snag on the gag and there'd be a whole lot of mobile suits after them-not to mention that the world was going to be blown into about a bajillion tiny pieces and sent to the outer corners of the universe-that is, once Zechs stopped playing with Epyon and got around to it. The whole world was going to hell, just like he'd told it to a minute ago, and he just couldn't stop laughing. Perhaps it was because it just felt so good, so relieving, to finally laugh again with a little abandon. It had been so long.
Rubbing his eyes, he judged Heero to be thoroughly annoyed with him by now. And he should be; Duo'd been laughing for a good five minutes straight, and Heero, being the humorless type, would probably never understand why- Duo certainly didn't. Sighing with happiness-an unfamiliar feeling to be sure-he finally opened his eyes to see
Nothing.
Any trace of laughter died on his lips as he was confronted with a blank screen. He stared dumbly, confounded, at the mute link, searching stupidly for Heero's familiar expression. Why would the thing break now? Now wasn't the time for Deathscythe to just-stop working. It just wasn't supposed to happen that way. He'd been so proud around the other pilots because he was a mechanic and things on his Gundam never just-went wrong. So what.?
Empty space stretched all around him and a sudden chill made him shudder. It wasn't the link. Heero was gone. Duo stared into the emptiness around him, far too aware of the cold, deadly, beauty that lay so close to him on every side. A growing terror filled him, a terror that had once started him running to the nearest streetlamp when he was young, and had sent him groping frantically for company, for the sight and sound and smell of another human being, ever since. And he needed that company now, panic rising in his throat as he realized that his best friend had left him alone in the middle of the wide and lonely space, had turned his back on him and left as silent as a specter as he had laughed. And the echo of that laughter now seemed alive and menacing as a ghost, wafting through the cockpit, laying cold hands on the back of Duo's neck and shoulders, almost bending down to whisper words of deadly consequence in his ear. He sat perfectly still, seeing in his mind's eye her figure, her long, bony fingers, her full pale lips as she bent ever nearer-he felt her breath on his neck and sweat broke out on his back.
Shaking his head, he banished the vision from his mind, rolling his eyes just for the added feeling of ridiculousness that the action produced. He laughed again in his jaunty manner and proceeded to turn Deathscythe calmly and expertly towards the blip on the RADAR that was the Gundam Pilot's ship. He was Shinigami after all. Ha! Death was his domain; ghosts would be brought to bow before him-or he would blow them up! Problem solved! Besides, no woman ever died in his Gundam. Maybe she died in space. That would suck for her. Hmmm. he would ask Quatre; he knew these things. He probably would feel a dead woman's soul through his telekinetic psychosis whatever. Duo suddenly had a vision of Quatre in a purple turban the exact shade of his vest, sitting cross-legged in a trance, drinking Wufei's tea with the ghost-who was also drinking tea and wearing a big ribbon fluffed hat. And he felt better again.
Now that he thought about it, he knew exactly where Heero was going. Heero had challenged Treize because Dorothy had told him to or kill the Diplomat Princess whatever. So, since he had lost, that meant that Relena was dead.
And that meant that Dorothy Catalonia was about to meet the wrong end of either a gun or a Gundam. Well, the day, it seemed, wasn't over yet. Ghosts in stupid hats or not, Duo Maxwell wasn't going to let Heero have all the fun. But first, he'd have to refill his fuel; he was getting low. And maybe grab a cup of coffee.
* * * * *
Lucrezia stepped onto the smaller ship, something like regret making her calm eyes seem very sad. Relena was gone and she had done nothing, despite the fact that she was a soldier, trained to fight for what she felt was right. She stood tall, her mouth closed, her face set it the lines of inevitability. Relena was a child really, although very responsible and intelligent for her age. In her mind's eye, Noin compared her very closely with the Gundam Pilots; they were all too young for the positions they'd been handed and they had all been given grief and almost no support in their lives.
She was very lonely. She had no one to talk to as an equal on this ship anymore and so spent her free time sitting alone in her cabin wondering how Relena and her brother were doing. She missed him, and she missed Relena, but it was just getting so dull now. Depression had settled on her usually intense mind and she just felt exhausted. There was nothing to occupy her mind but them and so she'd made her decision. She would go, now, and she would talk to him. She would tell him point blank what she felt and she would get a reaction out of him no matter what it took. If he tried giving her some noncommittal answer she would back him into a wall and force him to make up his mind. If he said he had no feelings for her, she would be satisfied and she would force herself to go on with her life, and with time she would forget the brilliance of his eyes and the way his voice made her feel-right. And if she couldn't live, he would never know, and she didn't care.
She would take Relena either way; she was too tired to care about the world. She would bully the whole ship if that were what it took, but she would take Miss Relena away. And she'd bring her back, and then, when she had some energy once again, they would decide together what to do.
So she stepped on the ship, aware that in a few short hours she would be on the White Fang and would be confronting her only heartless love, and then she'd know.
* * * * *
Dorothy sighed in mock exasperation. She was sitting comfortably in Mr. Zech's padded leather chair at the controls of the White Fang. It was a very comfortable chair, almost made for her it seemed, which was silly because it had been made for Mr. Zech's larger and taller frame-but she liked big chairs, so it was perfect. The controls were at her very fingertips-even now when she didn't know what to do, she caressed the buttons with something like a lover's deliberation, with something like the heartfelt fondness with which she often stroked the pistol tucked unobtrusively into the waistband of her skirt.
Drat it all. Zechs had put a lock on the cannon.
It had been days since Relena had been taken and by now everyone from Miss Noin to Treize to the Gundam pilot's personal toilet cleaner knew that Mr. Zechs had decided to blow up the world. She was shocked that no one had blown them up yet for all that the stupid world deserved being blasted to smithereens. It was just typical; after all, no good deed goes unpunished.
But that he had to use a code-really! That was uncalled for. Did he think that she'd blow up the world if he were capable of doing it himself? Of course not! She sighed again, more dramatically this time. He'd probably been worried that someone would bump the mechanism and blow up a colony accidentally. That would be a shame. He was always so thoughtful that way, always so concerned for the little people.
She'd have to get him to stop that. It put such a damper on her experiments.
Oh well. Being around the Lightning Count did make her life interesting, which was after all, all she really wanted.
There were spaces for fourteen letters; what they were, she had no idea. There were just too many possibilities for her limited computer skills to cope with. Why couldn't he have made this easier for her? Why did he always have to be so brilliant and untrusting and what would cause anyone who knew her not to trust her? It was baffling, but then, it wasn't her he distrusted; it was fate.
Forcing herself out of the comfortable padded chair, she waited a moment for her foot to wake up again as she decided what to do now. She could wake Zechs up for a moment-Milliardo-it was just getting so hard to remember which now-if it was possible, to get the access code. But that probably wasn't possible-she'd dosed him pretty good. He had needed it, to be perfectly honest. He couldn't go on in his present state; he was making the crewmembers nervous. And the sleep would do him good-he didn't rest enough on a regular basis, perhaps four, five hours a day. She was determined that when he awoke he would have nothing to stress over; she'd give him the day off to do-something. Just about the only thing he could do was read; there was little else to do on the ship-so she'd round up every book on board and have them delivered somewhere convenient for him. And she'd have a special dinner prepared, with all the rich foods he loved and never ate; probably a good thing-it was tough to be mysterious and intimidating when you had double chins peeking out from under your mysterious and intimidating mask. But it would just be this one time, so that wouldn't be a problem.
What to do, what to do. hmm. she could go visit Relena. She really did love tormenting her-but not just that. She liked watching her, liked seeing how her mind worked; it was all written so plainly in her eyes. It amazed Dorothy how Relena could be both so saturated in the dignity of royalty-unusual considering she'd lived all her life as Relena Dorlian; it must be in the blood-and yet so open with all her emotions. It was fascinating and confusing and Dorothy had taken delight in observing her activities for quite some time.
The reaction to the news of Heero's death had been interesting. Poor princess! To fall for someone with your exact opposite political and moral views! It must be very disturbing for her peace of mind. Relena's first reaction had been disbelief, then anger-which had surprised Dorothy; for the briefest of moments Relena's eyes had flashed, at odds with her heartbroken face-and then had come denial and shock. She'd been terribly pale since then, with a dry, cool face and distant eyes that looked at Dorothy sideways and boldly held things back, as though she knew why Dorothy did what she did.
That was silly of course. Relena was such a naïve girl; she'd never be able to understand the darker aspects of human nature and would continue in her life like all good naïve girls, to brush these people's views off as "mad" and "evil". And perhaps they were, to some, but to Dorothy's eyes, there were no longer any such things as good or evil-there were only life and death and how much happened to one in between.
She intended to make her life very, very interesting.
Shaking her foot out one more time for good measure, she started off in the direction of Relena's cell, wondering vaguely if the princess had ever worn blue jeans before. well, that was silly. Of course she had; she was Relena Dorlian until very recently-but then again, her adopted father had been a very influential politician so maybe she wouldn't have. If he'd been in the public eye a lot, then it would follow that his family was as well, thus they would always be dressed exactly as his public opinion's experts thought was best, which may not include jeans at all.
Pushing the button that opened Relena's "cell", she was about to call out an ironic greeting when her nose met up with a very clumsy right hook. Dull, hard pain shot up her sinuses and around her strange pupilless eyes, and her sense of balance wavered for a moment, tripping her over her own feet and skirts. For an instant she knelt on the floor, unaware of how she had come to be there. Feeling warmth on her chin, she raised her hands to find blood. It was spattered all over her blouse and skirt and arms, and for a moment she considered catching it so that it wouldn't ruin her clothes more than it had already, but her practical mind kicked in just in time to save her a bare-footed kick from Miss Relena.
Rage flamed suddenly in her body, filling her with warmth and a sense of righteous anger. She was on her feet in an instant, rushing forward to the pacifist who had probably just broken her nose, her obvious intent being murder. She would explain to Mr. Zechs later why she had killed his sister. Reaching into the waistband of her skirt, she pulled out her gun, ignoring reason now as she saw the princess pull out-something-white.
And then she couldn't see, and her own enraged shriek filled her head. She rubbed her eyes furiously, backing up all the time. She fired her gun randomly, hoping that by some chance she'd kill the pacifist despite. When it was wrenched forcefully out of her grip, she opened her eyes in shock, and another rush of the cool, burning-something-filled them. She stumbled back, tripped and lay on her back, blind and helpless, and suddenly she felt terror. It took her breath away, sent her gasping-because she was afraid and didn't know what to do.
"An eye for an eye, Dorothy." Relena's voice was cold, regal, and the words made Dorothy cold. And then she felt fire rushing through her and heard the sharp report of the gun, and knew. This was death.
She felt muffled in cloud, and in a moment, the pain went away. She was drowning in something soft and quiet, and in the back of her mind she heard something like music, and decided to just relax and listen, as the blood poured out of her onto the plush carpet.
* * * * *
Relena looked down at the body quietly, letting the bottle of cheap shampoo fall from her hand. No tears filled her eyes; no guilt flooded her conscience. This was justice. Heero was dead, and so was his killer. She did not hold Treize responsible; they were on opposite sides-naturally they'd try to kill each other. But now this conniving girl, who once she had considered her friend, was dead. Her task was almost finished. Heero could rest in peace, and soon, so would she.
The end of the eighth chapter. I was wrong. There will be at least one more. Sorry if I'm confusing you. And no, I wasn't serious about writing my own reviews (yeah, great fic. You're doing a really good job. I couldn't do it better myself. Blah blah blah blah.) but maybe you know my frustration. Do you know, I've been writing this fic for like, ten months off and on and you're the only person who's ever said anything but "yeah, that dude's name is Howard." Well, you know.
I'll be back soon.
-------------Be happy. -------------StarChild.
Chapter Eight
I believe that this will be the final chapter of my fic. I have a great idea for another one and I'm anxious to get it down before it gets lost in the back of my head again.
Now, I can't say if this is out of character and to be frank, neither can you. So there. You never know, the Gundam pilots and other characters- that is, if they were real-might actually be feeling these things if the circumstances posted here occurred. If you flame me, that's great. I love mail of any kind (except a few kinds) and I'd just be tickled pink if it annoyed you enough to give you the sudden urge to write me a nasty e-mail, complete with lots of swearing and poor grammar. So fire away, you dastardly bastards! Hit me with your best shot!
p.s.-to those who've been waiting, I'm sorry about the long delay. You see, I started Spat camp about a week and a half ago and Spat camp, as we all know, keeps the entire world on hold, not to mention giving us one hell of a farmer's tan. We none of us have any choice in our lives but one; whether or not to bow to the inevitable-and I've bowed to this inevitable, so without further ado.
Chapter Eight--------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
Two powerful mobile suits sped away from Treize Kushrenada's space fortress, twin balls of blazing light-and the eternal night closed behind them once again, the widening distance making them into silent and brightly shining stars. The terrible aspects of each were disguised by the folds of merciful darkness that were spread across all the wilderness of space, making them instead into something both sweet and sad, like the last tremulous note of a show, where all the players and all the actors know that they will never truly play again except in their glory-dazed memories. So peaceful a sight it was, so still, that but for the sight of the blue planet in the distance, one would assume that there was nothing more in the world. In the three ships resided chaos of different sorts, in each a secret bursting to be found or told or realized, in each a suffocating intensity, an internal warmth, a surging tide of energy that can only be found in the most critical times. The moment of decision was at hand.
Duo laughed wildly, releasing into the cockpit of his Gundam the hilarity that he had kept so determinedly suppressed as the rush of white-hot adrenaline thrilled through his body. He had grinned in Treize's regal face as he had left him tied to the bed in which they'd kept his buddy. He had left the doctors-those two old chattering hens of doctors! -tied hand and foot with IV's! Pumped so full of their own bizarre mix of drugs that they had gone into hysterics at the sight of the florescent lamp and had started screaming that they were going to be boiled by the sun. At this Heero had given them a queer look and had proceeded to dispassionately stuff socks pulled off their own horned feet into their mouths. The two unsuccessful guards they had left in their boxers and undershirts, unconscious, stacked in front of the door like so much dead weight.
Treize would remember this day for a long while to come, and Duo hoped he burned with humiliation at the very thought. He alone of his retinue had been left conscious and fully aware of what was happening around him.
But the funniest part about the whole affair was this; after dealing with the various evil minions of Oz, Heero had found on Treize himself, the key to the door-the very key that allowed the door to be locked from the outside, making it an effective prison. The cameras in the room, Duo had left alone, knowing that if any experts were sent for to study the footage, they would also become witnesses to the easy way the Gundam Pilots-one even still dizzy from various toxins that had been pumped through him-had dealt with both them and their leader.
It was a beautiful day to be him, thought Duo, intoxicated with his success. He'd rescued Heero, humiliated Treize-Wufei would be so jealous- and had likely just started the demoralization of the entire Oz community. Now they would go back to the ship to meet with the others again, have Sally patch Heero up, although those Oz quacks seemed to have done a good job with that, and then find Quatre and storm the White Fang. Heero would have his princess since, strangely enough, that's what he seemed to want and Duo would be able to assuage the suffocating guilt that had torn at him since about five minutes after Heero left. The White Fang would be destroyed, the Diplomat saved, and the loony Zechs Marquise properly taken care of. Not to mention that Catalonia girl-she had to have a major roll in this whole fiasco; she had the evil genius roll down pat.
Over the link Duo could see Heero's pale, serious face. It gave away nothing. His tongue was mute, his motions just as dispassionate as usual, but a bit tighter on his left side. If he blamed Duo for getting him captured, he did not show it. If he forgave him for his hand-to-gun instincts, he did not say it. He was just as he had always been, and for that Duo was both grateful and frustrated. It would be swell if they could just pretend none of this had ever happened-and after all, it had happened before, and he had saved Heero then too-and continue on with their lives, as unpleasant as they sometimes were. But it frustrated him, though he hated to admit it, that Heero wouldn't respond to him. Duo was, after all, his buddy, and as such, Heero should care if Duo shot him. He shouldn't just ignore it, like he'd been shot by a total stranger. He should yell, for crying out loud, and get mad at Duo, and maybe give him a split lip to go with his mangled neck. Maybe he understood why Duo had done it-he'd been strangling him!-but even so, it just wasn't right for him not to care. It wasn't. natural.
'Ah, well.' Duo's mind cleared. Heero was Heero, thus strange. 'That's just the way he is, Mr. Perfect Soldier. It would probably kill him to smile and he'd be offended if someone told him he should get mad. But what am I complaining for? I've seen him mad before; I wonder if I'd live a second time?' And this thought, like every other, made him smile to himself in amusement. It really wasn't a funny thing to think about but Duo couldn't help smiling now with his present good feelings and his overall self-mocking attitude. He laughed out loud again, unsure why, and not caring in the least.
'To hell with it! To hell with all these little mental whatevers! Ha! I am Duo Maxwell, Shinigami, the God of Death, and this is my Gundam, and this is my world, and this is my life! To hell with tomorrow! To hell with Oz and White Fang and nightmares and Dorothy Catalonia's eyebrows!' And he laughed maniacally right in Heero's face over the link, laughing even harder at the expression on Heero's Gundam tinted face-a true study on Heeroishism; bland, grim, determined, glaring nothing. Without moving a single muscle in his face he managed to display every one of the many emotions in his extensive arsenal and not a single one of them friendly.
Tears of pure and helpless mirth poured down Duo's face and he tried helplessly to fight another wave of hysteric laughter, but he knew he'd lose and gave in almost immediately, closing his eyes just so he wouldn't have to see Heero's stupid face; then how would he ever stop laughing? He had no idea why he was laughing at all-it was all so stupid. He'd shot his buddy, who had almost paid for Duo's mistake with his life-it would have been better that Duo had allowed Heero to strangle him to death rather than that chilling possibility-and then, rescuing him he'd acted like a complete fool and had left Treize conscious-all it would take would be a snag on the gag and there'd be a whole lot of mobile suits after them-not to mention that the world was going to be blown into about a bajillion tiny pieces and sent to the outer corners of the universe-that is, once Zechs stopped playing with Epyon and got around to it. The whole world was going to hell, just like he'd told it to a minute ago, and he just couldn't stop laughing. Perhaps it was because it just felt so good, so relieving, to finally laugh again with a little abandon. It had been so long.
Rubbing his eyes, he judged Heero to be thoroughly annoyed with him by now. And he should be; Duo'd been laughing for a good five minutes straight, and Heero, being the humorless type, would probably never understand why- Duo certainly didn't. Sighing with happiness-an unfamiliar feeling to be sure-he finally opened his eyes to see
Nothing.
Any trace of laughter died on his lips as he was confronted with a blank screen. He stared dumbly, confounded, at the mute link, searching stupidly for Heero's familiar expression. Why would the thing break now? Now wasn't the time for Deathscythe to just-stop working. It just wasn't supposed to happen that way. He'd been so proud around the other pilots because he was a mechanic and things on his Gundam never just-went wrong. So what.?
Empty space stretched all around him and a sudden chill made him shudder. It wasn't the link. Heero was gone. Duo stared into the emptiness around him, far too aware of the cold, deadly, beauty that lay so close to him on every side. A growing terror filled him, a terror that had once started him running to the nearest streetlamp when he was young, and had sent him groping frantically for company, for the sight and sound and smell of another human being, ever since. And he needed that company now, panic rising in his throat as he realized that his best friend had left him alone in the middle of the wide and lonely space, had turned his back on him and left as silent as a specter as he had laughed. And the echo of that laughter now seemed alive and menacing as a ghost, wafting through the cockpit, laying cold hands on the back of Duo's neck and shoulders, almost bending down to whisper words of deadly consequence in his ear. He sat perfectly still, seeing in his mind's eye her figure, her long, bony fingers, her full pale lips as she bent ever nearer-he felt her breath on his neck and sweat broke out on his back.
Shaking his head, he banished the vision from his mind, rolling his eyes just for the added feeling of ridiculousness that the action produced. He laughed again in his jaunty manner and proceeded to turn Deathscythe calmly and expertly towards the blip on the RADAR that was the Gundam Pilot's ship. He was Shinigami after all. Ha! Death was his domain; ghosts would be brought to bow before him-or he would blow them up! Problem solved! Besides, no woman ever died in his Gundam. Maybe she died in space. That would suck for her. Hmmm. he would ask Quatre; he knew these things. He probably would feel a dead woman's soul through his telekinetic psychosis whatever. Duo suddenly had a vision of Quatre in a purple turban the exact shade of his vest, sitting cross-legged in a trance, drinking Wufei's tea with the ghost-who was also drinking tea and wearing a big ribbon fluffed hat. And he felt better again.
Now that he thought about it, he knew exactly where Heero was going. Heero had challenged Treize because Dorothy had told him to or kill the Diplomat Princess whatever. So, since he had lost, that meant that Relena was dead.
And that meant that Dorothy Catalonia was about to meet the wrong end of either a gun or a Gundam. Well, the day, it seemed, wasn't over yet. Ghosts in stupid hats or not, Duo Maxwell wasn't going to let Heero have all the fun. But first, he'd have to refill his fuel; he was getting low. And maybe grab a cup of coffee.
* * * * *
Lucrezia stepped onto the smaller ship, something like regret making her calm eyes seem very sad. Relena was gone and she had done nothing, despite the fact that she was a soldier, trained to fight for what she felt was right. She stood tall, her mouth closed, her face set it the lines of inevitability. Relena was a child really, although very responsible and intelligent for her age. In her mind's eye, Noin compared her very closely with the Gundam Pilots; they were all too young for the positions they'd been handed and they had all been given grief and almost no support in their lives.
She was very lonely. She had no one to talk to as an equal on this ship anymore and so spent her free time sitting alone in her cabin wondering how Relena and her brother were doing. She missed him, and she missed Relena, but it was just getting so dull now. Depression had settled on her usually intense mind and she just felt exhausted. There was nothing to occupy her mind but them and so she'd made her decision. She would go, now, and she would talk to him. She would tell him point blank what she felt and she would get a reaction out of him no matter what it took. If he tried giving her some noncommittal answer she would back him into a wall and force him to make up his mind. If he said he had no feelings for her, she would be satisfied and she would force herself to go on with her life, and with time she would forget the brilliance of his eyes and the way his voice made her feel-right. And if she couldn't live, he would never know, and she didn't care.
She would take Relena either way; she was too tired to care about the world. She would bully the whole ship if that were what it took, but she would take Miss Relena away. And she'd bring her back, and then, when she had some energy once again, they would decide together what to do.
So she stepped on the ship, aware that in a few short hours she would be on the White Fang and would be confronting her only heartless love, and then she'd know.
* * * * *
Dorothy sighed in mock exasperation. She was sitting comfortably in Mr. Zech's padded leather chair at the controls of the White Fang. It was a very comfortable chair, almost made for her it seemed, which was silly because it had been made for Mr. Zech's larger and taller frame-but she liked big chairs, so it was perfect. The controls were at her very fingertips-even now when she didn't know what to do, she caressed the buttons with something like a lover's deliberation, with something like the heartfelt fondness with which she often stroked the pistol tucked unobtrusively into the waistband of her skirt.
Drat it all. Zechs had put a lock on the cannon.
It had been days since Relena had been taken and by now everyone from Miss Noin to Treize to the Gundam pilot's personal toilet cleaner knew that Mr. Zechs had decided to blow up the world. She was shocked that no one had blown them up yet for all that the stupid world deserved being blasted to smithereens. It was just typical; after all, no good deed goes unpunished.
But that he had to use a code-really! That was uncalled for. Did he think that she'd blow up the world if he were capable of doing it himself? Of course not! She sighed again, more dramatically this time. He'd probably been worried that someone would bump the mechanism and blow up a colony accidentally. That would be a shame. He was always so thoughtful that way, always so concerned for the little people.
She'd have to get him to stop that. It put such a damper on her experiments.
Oh well. Being around the Lightning Count did make her life interesting, which was after all, all she really wanted.
There were spaces for fourteen letters; what they were, she had no idea. There were just too many possibilities for her limited computer skills to cope with. Why couldn't he have made this easier for her? Why did he always have to be so brilliant and untrusting and what would cause anyone who knew her not to trust her? It was baffling, but then, it wasn't her he distrusted; it was fate.
Forcing herself out of the comfortable padded chair, she waited a moment for her foot to wake up again as she decided what to do now. She could wake Zechs up for a moment-Milliardo-it was just getting so hard to remember which now-if it was possible, to get the access code. But that probably wasn't possible-she'd dosed him pretty good. He had needed it, to be perfectly honest. He couldn't go on in his present state; he was making the crewmembers nervous. And the sleep would do him good-he didn't rest enough on a regular basis, perhaps four, five hours a day. She was determined that when he awoke he would have nothing to stress over; she'd give him the day off to do-something. Just about the only thing he could do was read; there was little else to do on the ship-so she'd round up every book on board and have them delivered somewhere convenient for him. And she'd have a special dinner prepared, with all the rich foods he loved and never ate; probably a good thing-it was tough to be mysterious and intimidating when you had double chins peeking out from under your mysterious and intimidating mask. But it would just be this one time, so that wouldn't be a problem.
What to do, what to do. hmm. she could go visit Relena. She really did love tormenting her-but not just that. She liked watching her, liked seeing how her mind worked; it was all written so plainly in her eyes. It amazed Dorothy how Relena could be both so saturated in the dignity of royalty-unusual considering she'd lived all her life as Relena Dorlian; it must be in the blood-and yet so open with all her emotions. It was fascinating and confusing and Dorothy had taken delight in observing her activities for quite some time.
The reaction to the news of Heero's death had been interesting. Poor princess! To fall for someone with your exact opposite political and moral views! It must be very disturbing for her peace of mind. Relena's first reaction had been disbelief, then anger-which had surprised Dorothy; for the briefest of moments Relena's eyes had flashed, at odds with her heartbroken face-and then had come denial and shock. She'd been terribly pale since then, with a dry, cool face and distant eyes that looked at Dorothy sideways and boldly held things back, as though she knew why Dorothy did what she did.
That was silly of course. Relena was such a naïve girl; she'd never be able to understand the darker aspects of human nature and would continue in her life like all good naïve girls, to brush these people's views off as "mad" and "evil". And perhaps they were, to some, but to Dorothy's eyes, there were no longer any such things as good or evil-there were only life and death and how much happened to one in between.
She intended to make her life very, very interesting.
Shaking her foot out one more time for good measure, she started off in the direction of Relena's cell, wondering vaguely if the princess had ever worn blue jeans before. well, that was silly. Of course she had; she was Relena Dorlian until very recently-but then again, her adopted father had been a very influential politician so maybe she wouldn't have. If he'd been in the public eye a lot, then it would follow that his family was as well, thus they would always be dressed exactly as his public opinion's experts thought was best, which may not include jeans at all.
Pushing the button that opened Relena's "cell", she was about to call out an ironic greeting when her nose met up with a very clumsy right hook. Dull, hard pain shot up her sinuses and around her strange pupilless eyes, and her sense of balance wavered for a moment, tripping her over her own feet and skirts. For an instant she knelt on the floor, unaware of how she had come to be there. Feeling warmth on her chin, she raised her hands to find blood. It was spattered all over her blouse and skirt and arms, and for a moment she considered catching it so that it wouldn't ruin her clothes more than it had already, but her practical mind kicked in just in time to save her a bare-footed kick from Miss Relena.
Rage flamed suddenly in her body, filling her with warmth and a sense of righteous anger. She was on her feet in an instant, rushing forward to the pacifist who had probably just broken her nose, her obvious intent being murder. She would explain to Mr. Zechs later why she had killed his sister. Reaching into the waistband of her skirt, she pulled out her gun, ignoring reason now as she saw the princess pull out-something-white.
And then she couldn't see, and her own enraged shriek filled her head. She rubbed her eyes furiously, backing up all the time. She fired her gun randomly, hoping that by some chance she'd kill the pacifist despite. When it was wrenched forcefully out of her grip, she opened her eyes in shock, and another rush of the cool, burning-something-filled them. She stumbled back, tripped and lay on her back, blind and helpless, and suddenly she felt terror. It took her breath away, sent her gasping-because she was afraid and didn't know what to do.
"An eye for an eye, Dorothy." Relena's voice was cold, regal, and the words made Dorothy cold. And then she felt fire rushing through her and heard the sharp report of the gun, and knew. This was death.
She felt muffled in cloud, and in a moment, the pain went away. She was drowning in something soft and quiet, and in the back of her mind she heard something like music, and decided to just relax and listen, as the blood poured out of her onto the plush carpet.
* * * * *
Relena looked down at the body quietly, letting the bottle of cheap shampoo fall from her hand. No tears filled her eyes; no guilt flooded her conscience. This was justice. Heero was dead, and so was his killer. She did not hold Treize responsible; they were on opposite sides-naturally they'd try to kill each other. But now this conniving girl, who once she had considered her friend, was dead. Her task was almost finished. Heero could rest in peace, and soon, so would she.
The end of the eighth chapter. I was wrong. There will be at least one more. Sorry if I'm confusing you. And no, I wasn't serious about writing my own reviews (yeah, great fic. You're doing a really good job. I couldn't do it better myself. Blah blah blah blah.) but maybe you know my frustration. Do you know, I've been writing this fic for like, ten months off and on and you're the only person who's ever said anything but "yeah, that dude's name is Howard." Well, you know.
I'll be back soon.
-------------Be happy. -------------StarChild.