Just when you thought I was dead… Okay, so I'm a lazy-ass. What can I say? It's true, ne? –Lady Phoenixdagger *//.^*
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing
I will not claim to own Gundam Wing….
*****
"Where am I!? I demand to know where I am being held!"
Wearily rubbing his temples, Ali Broman sighed and approached the sleeping room where the two men that had passed through the Bond the night before were being held. Now it was midmorning the next day and both were wide awake, one more so than the other by the sound of it. They had only been up for about an hour and already the tall black-haired man –who curtly told one of the people checking up on them earlier that he was to be called Roth and nothing else- had pasted himself with the label of "supreme jerk". The other one had been asleep at the time, and Roth would volunteer no information whatsoever, so they knew absolutely nothing about him. And so, lucky Ali Broman had been saddled with the esteemed pleasure of greeting them both.
Lovely. Saddle the nice guy with the welcome wagon duties.
Sighing, Ali pushed open the heavy, wooden door and stepped into the sleeping room.
The scene that greeted him was like that out of a badly-written farce. Roth stood in the middle of the room facing off with an emerald-hued Bhaarliad woman with a wicker basket of clean clothes balanced on her hip. Ali recognised her as Rhaeyne, Glas the blacksmith's wife. She was a cheeky one to be sure, but if Roth decided to lunge at her, Ali decided she could probably take him. The other, smaller, nameless man was standing between them like a referee at a hockey game, a harried look on his face. Ali sighed again. It would have been almost funny, had it not been him who had to break it up. Roth and the Rhaeyne looked like they were ready to leap over the blond man and put their teeth to each other's throats. Straightening his black wool robe, Ali cleared his throat and stepped into the fray.
"Who the hell are you!?" Roth roared. Rhaeyne looked up at the tall Druid with a triumphant look on her face. The blond man looked at him, looked again at the scene and resumed looking worried.
Ali kept his face calm. "I am Ali Broman, a Druid of this place-"
"Which would be…?" Roth interrupted rudely. Sniffing at him, Rhaeyne tossed her head and left the room, minus the basket.
"Alaryan's Keep." Genius! How informative, Ali chided himself. Quickly he went on to explain the Bond and the circumstances around it, the Keep and Walker. Throughout his monologue, he noticed the blond man hung onto every word he said, while Roth simply leaned on his bedstead looking bored.
When he finished, the dirty-blond man bit his lip. "So then we're to blame for this Lord Walker's attack?"
Ali nodded, stopped, and shook his head in the negative. "You are the cause, but surely you are not to blame. The Bond is impossible to manipulate. There is no way this could be your fault."
The blond man smiled ruefully. "Somehow that doesn't do much in the way of comfort." He extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Mackenzie Goodman, by the way. A biologist and professor with Alnwood University." He shook his head. "Not that it matters now, I suppose."
Ali took the proffered hand and shook it, painfully aware of how huge and callused his hand was next to Mackenzie's own small, smooth one. "Good to meet you."
Roth hawked and spat, carelessly letting it splat loudly on the stone floor. "So because of some brat and his 'condition', I'm trapped with some friggin' fairy boy and a giant version of Sinbad the sailor in the medieval era?" he groused.
Ali bristled at the words the smelly, unkempt man said. "First of all, this is not the medieval era." The seven-foot Druid let his hand rest easily on head of the heavy warhammer attached to the thick leather belt he wore over his robes. As a Druid, he was forbidden to use bladed weaponry; however, this did not keep him from using blunt, heavy weaponry to bash some major ass. If anything, he didn't have to worry about keeping the thing sharp, and it got the job done just as well as any sword or axe, though admittedly it did make more of a mess. "And secondly, this 'brat' you speak of is my son." He leaned in, letting his beard barely brush Roth's own scraggly face. The smell of the younger man's breath almost made Ali's eyes cross, but he kept on. "My very large, very powerful son."
Despite the scare tactics, Roth merely shrugged. "Whatever. This still sucks monkey shit."
Mackenzie shot Roth a Look before wandering off to the clothes basket and rummaging around in it. "Well, I for one would love to see more of this Keep. Tell me, are there more of those lizard women like the one we saw around here?"
"Bhaarliad," Ali corrected automatically. "The words 'lizard man' or 'lizard woman' are like open invitations to be referred to as 'monkey boy' for the rest of your life."
"Oh. Sorry." Mackenzie pulled his khakis from the basket and began pulling them on under his nightshirt. "Do you think you could show me around?" He looked up, grey eyes shining boyishly behind his glasses. "This place must be absolutely fascinating." The good doctor caught himself in his wide-eyed expression and straightened, clearing his throat. "From a purely scientific point of view, you understand."
"Sure." Ali smiled. He was already beginning to like this guy. He was pleasant and polite and intelligent. If one of Ali's daughters ever brought home a man like this, he would welcome him into the family as soon as he stepped through the door. And held up next to Roth, all Mackenzie was missing was a halo a perhaps an angelic choir. "You coming, Roth?"
"Hell no."
Mackenzie shrugged. "Your loss." He stripped off his nightshirt and pulled on his sweater. From his pocket, he pulled out a tiny notebook and a pencil. "Lead on, O Knowledgeable One."
Ali grinned. "First stop, dining room," he said as they left the room and Roth behind.
Mackenzie caught his breath as he looked at the stunning architecture of the arched hallway stretching out before him. "Hey, do you paint by any chance?" he asked. "Because this would be a great picture!"
Ali grinned wider. Today was going to be a good day.
*****
In Duo's hand, the attendance fluttered as he walked to deliver it to the front office. It was for biology class and the teacher had said that he could take his time, so Duo decided to take the long way, if only to miss the first fifteen or twenty minutes of the "Photosynthesis is Phun!" lab Ms. Blower was giving. The semiformal was only a few days away now and Duo was in high spirits. He had braved going shopping with Belle and now had a suit, complete with an ancient top hat and cane of Gil's he had found buried in the basement. He also had a buttoneer and corsage on order, a bouquet of roses to pick up on the day of the dance, a box of chocolates he had resisted eating and –of course- a hot date.
Needless to say, life was good.
Humming a song he'd heard on the radio, Duo cut down another hallway that would lead him to the front office. Eventually. About two-thirds of the way down, he spotted Heero at his locker, pulling out a three-ring binder.
"Hey!" Duo called to him. Heero looked up and nodded curtly to Duo. "Going my way?"
"No."
"Then I'll just go yours." The Great Shinigami waved the attendance cheerfully like a flag over his head and jogged over to Heero, grinning mischievously. "I swear, if I have do one more activity that involves microscopes and botany, I'll go ZERO."
The Perfect Soldier rolled his eyes. "Come along then. I'll be late for math class."
"Cool."
The two boys meandered down the halls, Heero in his habitual silence and Duo surrounded by his usual cloud of ceaseless chatter. Teacher's patrolling the halls glanced their way, sensing skippers, but the attendance in Duo's hand was like a magic bill of passage, giving the teachers the message that detention would be unfounded.
It was when they came down the hall closest to the Gym that they found Misty's shredded backpack in the middle of the floor, only made recognisable by colour and the fact that her personal belongings were flung all over the place. Soldier's instinct caught Duo then, as well as Heero. Breathing deeply, ready at all times to attack, Duo stooped and picked up a tube of Chapstick that had rolled from Misty's backpack. All over the hall papers and other things were strewn about. Here lay the novel she had been reading, there lay her lunch. Sheets of paper were scattered all over the floor. But there was one essential that Duo failed to find.
Where the hell is she?
"Duo." Heero's voice was grim. "Come here."
Pulse racing, Duo all but sprinted to Heero, who was kneeling by a row of lockers, eyes glued to a spot on the floor. "What is it?"
"Here." Heero pointed to the spot he was looking at. A large scarlet splat of blood marred a scrap of paper there. There was also a little bit of blood on the locker door above it.
"Oh, lord." Trembling with unspent adrenaline, Duo put his ear to the impossibly narrow metal door and listened hard.
The sound of shallow breathing greeted him.
"Shit!" The Great Shinigami grabbed to the lock and set to work cracking the combination. "She's inside!"
Wordlessly, Heero slapped Duo's hands away, grabbed the lock, and, with a sharp twist, wrenched it off. Carelessly, he tossed it down the hall. It bounced tinnily off a wall before being lost from sight. Impatient, Duo butted in front of Heero and whipped open the locker door.
Oh, no…
Misty, her tiny body crammed upright into the locker, her hair matted with dried blood, was unconscious, her shallow breathing telling of at least one broken rib. Duo fought the urge to scream with rage when he saw her arm dangling at an odd angle. Forcing himself to breathe normally, he gently lifted her from the locker, seeing the deep violet bruises blooming like gruesome fireworks under her skin. Dimly, he became aware of Heero helping to support Misty's broken arm and guiding him towards the office. Slowly before him, the word began to cloak itself in a think, syrupy haze.
"Wake up, Duo!" Heero snapped sharply as they walked. "This is not the time to lose it."
Duo shook his head to clear it. Heero was right. In his arms, Misty slowly came around and turned her head to look at him. Softly, she moaned.
"Shhhhh," Duo whispered to her. Gently, he leaned over and laid his lips on her sweaty forehead. "Don't move, baby. Everything'll be okay."
"…hurts…"
"I know, baby." He looked up to see they were approaching the front office. "Just try to stay with me until we get to the Health Room and everything'll be okay. All right?"
Misty merely sighed and went limp in Duo's arms.
Inside the office, the receptionist started as Heero and Duo burst in with Misty and made a beeline to the Health Room, but sat back down at a murderous glance from Heero. Once there, Duo gently lay Misty down on one of the low, hard vinyl cots and made her as comfortable as he could while Heero rummaged around in the cabinets for medical supplies.
"…Duo…?" Misty's voice was tiny, almost confused, and her eyes were darting around the room, trying to decipher where she was. "…Duo…?"
"I'm still here, baby." The braided boy moved into her line of sight. "Don't cry." As gently as he could, he dabbed around the spreading bruises on her face to mop up her tears. "I'm here. Don't cry, now. Lay still."
Heero appeared suddenly by them, a pair of scissors in his hand. "We have to take a look at her ribs and we can't just pull off her shirt on account of her arm." Duo caught the rest of the sentence from the look on Heero's face. Keep her calm.
"Okay," Duo said back. His own expression clearly said, If you stare at her…
Carefully, Heero cut Misty's uniform golf shirt up the front, avoiding contact with the fragile body beneath. Red-faced, Duo looked fiercely at the ceiling. Beside him, he heard Heero whistle softly under his breath.
"Huh. Sexy black lace," the Perfect Soldier said. "Who would have expected that?"
"HEERO!!"
"Just checking to see if you were still awake." Heero smirked briefly before starting off to the freezer in the corner of the room for some ice, leaving Duo and Misty alone for the moment. Uncomfortable, Duo tried looking for designs in the ceiling tiles. Needless to say, this activity lasted all of six seconds.
C'mon Shinigami, staring at the ceiling isn't going to help you do anything useful. Painfully aware of how hard he was breathing, Duo slowly forced himself to look down. Inwardly, he groaned at the sight of Misty's tiny form blooming with bruises and cuts. Over her heart, Duo could make out the faint outline of a boot heel surrounded by darkening bruises. There were a couple of other things he naturally also noticed, but chivalry quickly took over and dragged his eyes to Misty's face. His heart dropped further as he saw her bright eyes already beginning to purple and swell shut. Lightly, he traced along her jawline with a fingertip.
"Hey," he said kindly. "How are you doing?" Moron!! He kicked himself hard. Great line, stupid!! Pure insight!!
Misty turned her face into Duo's palm and moaned. Gasping at the pain this caused her ribs, she suddenly began to cry.
"Shhh, shhh." Alarmed, Duo began to stroke her hair. "It'll be okay. Don't overexcite yourself. I'm still right here."
"It…hurts…"
"I know, baby. I know."
"Move over." Heero came then, a plastic baggie of ice in either hand. Carefully, he laid one over the boot print on Misty's chest and handed the other to Duo. "Keep it over her eyes," he instructed. "The receptionist called 911. The paramedics just got here." He leaned over to murmur into Duo's ear: "Keep her calm until they get here."
Duo knelt by Misty and put his lips by her ear. "The paramedics are coming now, Misty."
"…come…?" She winced as her breath jarred her lungs.
Duo smiled gently at her. "Of course, baby. I'll come with you." He held her good hand. If anything, I could help hold Darien down when he hears about what happened. Duo stroked Misty's sweat-dampened hair. Who would do such a thing to an innocent girl? He sucked in a deep sigh of relief as the sound of adult footsteps hurrying to the Health Room neared. "Promise."
*****
"Bastards." Darien took another pull on his beer and grimaced. He, Ria, Amy and Tama were sitting at the kitchen table in the Broman house, talking and drinking, though more of the latter had been going on as of late. Ali and Marrigan were still at the hospital with Misty and Zach was wearily trying to snatch some sleep in his bedroom upstairs. The atmosphere was intoxicatingly fuzzy, the whole room being lit through the bounty of one tiny oil lamp Ria had dug up from the basement. Slowly, Darien checked his watch, noting absently the lateness –or earliness, depending- of the hour. "Bastards," he repeated. "Damned bastards."
Tama nodded and went back to peeling the label from her bottle and playing with the scraps that fell to the table, watching them fall like boldly coloured snowflakes. "Out of the five –no, sorry, four- of us, the Federation shits chose to beat on little Misty." She shook her head. "I don't get it. Why her?" She flicked a bottle cap across the table, watching the Molson logo spin like a top. Earlier that evening, Misty had told all she could remember about the incident, which wasn't very much. The one thing she did recall were the bloody red armbands that the junior members of the Federation for Human Purity wore. "They could have taken any one of us," Tama continued. "But they went after her."
"She's the weakest of the five of us, not to mention the most convenient since those Federation shits go to the same school as her." Ria sighed. "Just goes to show you what kind of heartless assholes we're dealing with."
Amy nodded, drawing her legs onto her chair and sitting on them. "Yeah…but now what?"
"Now?" Darien stretched and paused to drink deeply from the bottle in his hand. "Now we can do nothing. They pound on us survivors and no one does anything. They put up signs and flyers telling people we're spawn of Satan or something and have rallies and marches, but no one has the guts to stop them. Now they've put their heels into one single, solitary girl –a bard, no less- and just like before, everyone will just shut their eyes and sit on their hands."
Darien watched three pairs of female eyes look away before closing his own and laying his head in his hands. "Why can't anything ever be easy?"
They drank without speaking for a while, letting themselves be buried under a blanket of silence torn with the occasional creaks and groans of the house settling into itself.
"Sondra Fraser called us today," Ria said after what seemed to be a lifetime. "She still wants to do that…thinger….Whaddaya call it?"
"An exposé," Darien said, his head still in his hands. "Looks like Sondra Fraser, lady reporter and activist extarordinaire strikes yet again." For months now, Sondra Fraser, an anchor on the local six o'clock news, had been trying to get a news crew into the Keep for her segment called "Sondra's People". Admittedly, she was doing in support of the Keep and survivors and magic-users alike. But around the Keep, the decision was unanimous: no cameras.
Still, in light of what had just happened, the chance to show the world that Black Hood survivors and magic-users were mainly harmless was starting to look more and more compelling.
"Don't be so cynical, Darien," Amy scolded. "She's trying her best to help out. And she seems to be a sweet enough woman on TV."
Darien shrugged. "Yeah, but would you want to be known as one of 'Sondra's People'? It sounds almost like she discovered us or something."
"You may have a point there."
"Umph," Tama stood and stretched, wobbling a bit as the booze in her system did battle with her muscle control. "I'm going to bed," she announced. "All this talk is getting depressing."
"I'm with you." Ria rose as well, her stance a bit steadier. "Come on, Amy. I don't think you shout be driving right now. You can sleep in our room tonight…." The sentence trailed off, but the rest of it chimed sadly in their minds: It's not like Misty will be.
"Yeah. Okay." Amy leaned over and pecked Darien on the temple. "G'night, Darien."
" 'Night."
The women left the kitchen, leaving Darien alone to think in the waning light of the oil lamp. Mentally, he reached out and brushed against Walker's mind, only to be greeted with dark, enveloping nothingness. Walker had still not woken up. Almost idly, Darien wondered if this latest attack was to be the last Walker would ever encounter, that perhaps this time he would not open his eyes. Instantly, he regretted thinking so. Frustrated, Darien clenched his fists, shattering the beer bottle he had forgotten was there in his hands. Swearing softly, he began to pick bits of tinted glass out his palms and fingers, watching the torn flesh close eagerly after them. It was almost horrifying, watching the tissue knit together and seam shut there in the almost total darkness. His heart heaving with melancholy, Darien looked at his hands, willing the long, slender metal claws in his hands to come forth. They did, tearing eagerly from the flesh under his knuckles, shockingly foot-long for their finger-length prisons. They gleamed in an almost sinister fashion, evil-looking in the way they caught the sparse lamplight.
A tear hit the tabletop followed quickly by another and yet another. Ashamed, Darien pulled in the metal claws, not able to bear the sight of them any longer.
Lord, he said silently, hating the thunderous absence of the faint underbuzz of Walker's thoughts that normally accompanied his own. Why us?
*****
Wow, am I ever cruel... Okay, I'll make the wait for the next chapter a little less long. Promise!
Ja ne, minna-san!
L.P.D. *//.^*