Well, it's been quite a while since I've updated this fic, but I decided to take another stab at it and post another chapter. Please, however you feel about this fic, give me your comments in a review. I love reading reviews and would be happy to answer any questions you might have. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Two: Back-stabbings and Kidnappings
The room was decorated in deep maroon-colored velvet, a shade which threw the whole room into darkness. Shaded lamps and dark red candles provided the only light, and the heavy perfume hung like mist in the air. The effect was powerful, overwhelming at first. Everything was steeped in shadow and mystery, glossed over in expensive fabrics and too-sweet, exotics scents. The Grand Duchess sat there, in a throne of silk and crush velvet, staring at her reflection in her large, ornate window. Her red hair fell in long, soft tresses down her slender back, her bright eyes gleamed in the dim lights of the room, and the aura of power she cast over all present was suffocating and stifling. Taken aback by the strange, foreboding atmosphere and the feeling that she was to be smothered before she could speak, Catherine Bloom took a few hesitant steps forward and sank into a bow.
"Ah, good, you're here," came Mariemaia's cool, smooth voice. The young dictator turned in her impressive chair and looked down upon the bowing young woman.
"I came as soon as I received your summons, My Lady," Catherine replied. Mariemaia nodded and stood, walking slowly past her handmaiden and toward the room's shrouded windows.
"I have received a letter, Catherine," she said softly, neutrally, and Catherine felt a shiver go down her spine.
"A letter, Your Grace?" she replied carefully. Mariemaia tossed the older woman a glance out of the corner of her eyes.
"Yes. It seems that someone has discovered the identities of the men who plot against me."
"Oh…I see, Your Grace. Isn't that cheerful news?"
"Indeed it is, Catherine," Mariemaia agreed, turning to smile at the handmaiden in full. "In fact, I believe that one of my ladies-in-waiting is the author of the letter. If that is the case, I would very much like to reward her. Very much," she repeated, and met Catherine's nervous gaze head-on. Catherine bowed again and turned her sparkling eyes to the younger girl.
"I will tell the ladies, Your Grace."
"Very good. You may go. And Catherine—" the handmaiden paused at the door and looked back—"I'm glad you're here. You're the only one remotely near my age. I do believe we may become friends."
Smiling weakly, Catherine slipped from the room. She knew the names that had appeared on the letter, she'd known them all for years.
I would very much like to reward her…
Shutting her eyes, Catherine braced herself and walked smiling back into the room where the other ladies-in-waiting were sitting around a small table, enjoying their tea.
--
The breeze carried an icy chill as it blustered through the campgrounds, and Trowa glanced up from his work on the clown car for a moment. For some reason, that same icy chill seemed to whisper of disaster in the near future. And disaster meant life in prison or possibly even death. It meant a tyrannous rule for all people, with no foreseeable end.
Ignoring his own gloomy thoughts, Trowa returned to his labors on the clown car. Nothing could happen, they'd been too quiet. And even if there were rumors, they would not be tangible enough for any fingers to point at any of the ex-Gundam pilots. Quatre would be careful enough to make sure that no trails would lead back to any of them. Winner Enterprises was entirely clean, Quatre's personal documents were entirely clean, and his record in the past eight years had remained spotless. He'd even made donations to some of the funds set up in Mariemaia's name—nothing huge, and always in the programs that ensured government aid to those in need. Surely that was enough to show that Mr. Winner was not, in fact, plotting against the Grand Duchess, nor was he planning to overthrow her regime.
In the meantime, there was planning to do, like where to start the revolution and how to capture Mariemaia with as little loss of life as possible. There were strategies to consider and people to gather, weapons to smuggle to the group and weaknesses to exploit. Trowa glanced around the circus again and shook his head. If only the lives of those he cared for did not have to be put on the line…
A child ran up to him then, bearing a letter. Trowa took it and ruffled the child's hair in thanks, then opened the letter and glanced inside. It was neatly printed and short.
They know, it read, Get out!
An hour later, Trowa Barton again disappeared into the shadows, unheard, unnoticed, and unquestioned.
--
The Next Morning
Quatre sat helplessly in his personal office, watching as, fifty stories beneath his feet, Mariemaia forces shoved their way into Winner Enterprises' L-6 branch. He knew exactly what they were after, though how they'd discovered his ties to the revolution was unfathomable. Still, he wouldn't be able to make a grand escape this time. Moving with grace and dignitary, without hurry, he walked toward the stairs. At least he wouldn't make it easy for them. Once he was in the darkened service stairwell, he quickened his pace and began moving down as fast as his legs would allow. He'd reached the thirty-seventh floor when he sensed someone behind him and whipped around to attack. Mid-swing, after discovering that his assailant was a woman, he switched his strategy and went to trip her in order to avoid hurting her. The move was so graceful that he lost no momentum. She noticed, by the look in her eyes, and even seemed minutely impressed before dodging the trip with catlike grace. Without missing a beat, he struck out again for her face.
The blow was deflected, as was the second and the third, and before Quatre could counter with a forth, there was a sharp prick in his arm. He glared at the woman before him. She wasn't dressed as a Mariemaia soldier, but she was obviously after him. He tried to attack again, but found that his muscles refused to respond. His vocal chords, rendered immobile due to whatever substance she'd injected him with, denied him, and he was left speechless and helpless, at the hands of a woman who was obviously an enemy.
With surprising ease, she maneuvered him onto the service elevator that ran down the center of the spiral staircase and sent him down, then grabbed onto the ropes and let it carry her down as well. It was a gutsy move—Quatre had considered the elevator, but had decided that there was no way it could bear his weight. He'd obviously been wrong.
When they'd reached the bottom floor, she moved him out into the lobby. Soldiers were there, waiting for Quatre to emerge from the stairs, but the woman had anticipated that. Shoving him behind a desk, she returned their wild, half-aimed fire with quick, precise shots of her own. Quatre began to wonder where she'd gotten a gun from, but couldn't ask. That she was firing at the soldiers was a surprise enough—he'd originally thought that she was one of them, but she'd proven him wrong a second time. Still, that did little to ease his mind. If she didn't work for Mariemaia, whom did she work for? It couldn't be a friend, otherwise she wouldn't have used immobilizing chemicals on him. Then again, they shared a common enemy, a strong bargaining chip that he could play well when the time came.
A moment or so later, the woman grabbed him again and pushed him into a car, then ran around it and slipped in herself. She strapped him in—a precaution he would have found laughable if he'd been able to laugh—and slammed her foot down onto the gas petal, firing out of the car's window at the soldiers who were shooting at them from inside, outside, and above the lobby doors. Jaw set, she merged onto the freeway and smashed down the lever for cruise control. She didn't even spare him a glance as he stared at her, trying to determine who she was and what she was after.
She was a beautiful woman, with silken, golden waves of hair that poured down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a pure, clear blue, and her face tastefully pale and delicate. Pink lips were parted slightly in the letdown from her recent adrenaline rush, and under her cargo pants and loose T-shirt, there was strong evidence of a curvaceous, athletic body. She was a mere 5'3" in comparison to his 5'9", and came only to his chin, something he'd noticed in the stairwell before he'd lost all ability to move. Her skin was a silky, gentle color, and looked very soft to the touch. In short, despite her obvious skill, she did not appear to be the type that enjoyed or participated in combat very often. What worried him was the fact that her clothing offered him no clues as to the organization she was with. She opposed the Mariemaia soldiers, but she'd gone out of her way to make sure he wouldn't put up any resistance.
While he was puzzling all of it out, she reached over and stuck another needle in his arm, and he felt himself getting drowsy. As he dozed off, too tired to worry about just what she'd pumped into him, she locked his gaze with her own.
"Sleep well," she said simply, in a voice that reminded him absurdly of angels singing. Before he could banish that foolish thought from his mind, he slipped away into darkness.
--
When Quatre trudged back into consciousness, he found himself sitting in the co-pilots seat of a shuttle, coming up on a landing in the desert. Though his muscles had started to loosen up, he was still pretty much immobile.
"Coming out of it, eh? You've got quite a resistance to the stuff, I guess," the girl murmured, bringing the shuttle smoothly down. "Guess that means you can help me out my shuffling to the car."
He struggled against her as much as he could as she got him to his feet and began moving him toward the door, but with his muscles still weak from the drug, he couldn't do much. The woman opened the door and they stepped out into the burning atmosphere of the desert. Quatre knew it was the Sahara, he'd been there several times since the war. The heat wrapped itself around him like a blanket and he took a breath of the rangy smell of the desert. It was a pure, outdoorsy smell that always seemed to call to him. Beside him, unperturbed by the heat—and he silently cursed her for it, thinking she wasn't worthy of the desert warmth in her cold, headhunting heart—the woman moved him carefully down the ramp and to the waiting car. Within moments they were shooting across the desert at breakneck speed, with his captor paying him little attention. At some point or another, he drifted off to sleep again, still weak from the combination of drugs that she'd injected him with.
When he woke, it was near sunset and the woman was halting next to a small camp nestled at the basin of two large hills. All around him, dunes stretched toward the untouchable horizon. Before him, tents ruffled slightly in the desert wind. The temperature had dropped considerably, though the sand was still hot to the touch. Above all, Quatre realized he had control over his movements again, though his vocal chords were still weak. The woman motioned for him to get out of the car, and he did so, seeing no other option. He was amazed that he'd been captured so easily, with all the training he'd had and all the situations he'd lived through. Feeling embarrassed and foolish, he allowed her to lead him to the center of the camp. A tall figure emerged from one of the tents, and Quatre squinted to make out who was approaching. He could almost make out the features…
He made a surprised noise, and Rasid Kurama chuckled and bowed low before him. Rasid was the leader of the Maganac, one of Quatre's oldest and most trusted friends. The younger man nearly fell to his knees in relief. The woman hadn't been an enemy after all, she'd simply taken him to his friends, friends who could protect him as he reorganized. He glanced at the woman beside him, wondering who she was and how she knew the Maganac army. He got his answer a few moments later.
"I've brought Master Quatre, father," she said, stepping forward to embrace the man. Quatre's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Apart from the fact that the woman looked nothing like her father, he hadn't even known that Rasid had a daughter. Then again…there wasn't much he did know about the older man. Discussions on family had been something that Quatre had avoided nearly his whole life.
"I see that, thank you, Angel," he replied, his voice just as deep as Quatre remembered. Rasid turned to him and smiled. "I apologize for any discomfort you might have suffered, Master Quatre. Mr. Trowa contacted us and told us that you were in danger, but there were Mariemaia troops watching us, so we couldn't come get you. That's when I contacted my daughter, Angel. She's been keeping an eye on you for months for us, making sure that Mariemaia didn't become overly interested in you and that your safety was intact. I contacted her and she got you out of there, but there was no time for her to explain."
Quatre glanced at the woman—Angel—and nodded. She could have explained to him, he realized, seeing her slow smile, but she had enjoyed toying with him. Still, as he watched, she bowed deeply to him and kept her eyes on the ground, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Quatre. I apologize for the uncomfortable ride. You should be able to speak again within the hour," she said meekly. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Another person referring to him as "master"—it would take all of his patience to remember that they were simply offering their respect. Rasid took his arm then and led him away, into a tent that was prepared for him already. It was small but comfortable, and he sank down onto the makeshift bed gratefully, all of the stress and worry returning to him as weariness.
"Rest well, Master Quatre. We will speak in the morning," the older man said. Quatre nodded again and snuggled down into bed, feeling completely safe for the first time in a decade.
--
=All right, I know it's not much, but I wanted to test the waters before diving back in. Reviews are VERY appreciated. Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy show up next time…more Fei, too, for those of you who were wondering. If the reviews go well, I work on the next chapter…should be up in a week or so. See ya!
