Disclaimer:  Gundam Wing belongs to richer people than me.  I'm only borrowing, and I promise they'll be returned in near mint condition.

Warnings:  Rated R through out, swearing, sexual situations, and violence.  If you don't know it by now, (and you should) this story is YAOI/Slash.

Notes:  I'm sorry to say that another update can't be expected until February.  I'm studying abroad, and I won't have the time, inclination, or computer access to work on this.  But I'll only be gone for a month, so don't be alarmed!

Chapter 4

Quatre lazily opened his eyes.  He was warm and comfortable, with his limbs still in the jellified stage.  There was no rush to leave the bed just yet; in fact, there was no rush to move at all.  Instead, he took the time to study the unconscious features of the boy lying beside him.

It was rare to see Heero like this.  With his face completely relaxed, and those intense eyes closed, he actually looked his age.  In fact, with his sooty lashes brushing against his cheeks, and his chocolate hair sticking to the pillow at odd angles, he looked ridiculously young.  Like he would have looked if he hadn't been tainted with war and death, Quatre thought sadly.

He barely had time to complete the thought before rich blue eyes opened, instantly moving from sleep to full awareness, without the movement of any other muscle to signify the return to consciousness.  However, knowing Heero, he had already been awake evaluating his location and situation for possible danger.  Some wartime habits were harder to break than others.

Quatre smiled in greeting, stretching lazily against his bedmate.  "Good morning."

"Good morning."  Heero's expression was softer than usual, blue eyes almost tender in their regard of the blonde.  Not able to resist that look, Quatre leaned in and planted a closed-mouth kiss on the Japanese pilot's lips.  He paused after drawing away, staring at Heero thoughtfully.  Then he moved back in and lightly kissed the other man's jawbone.

Heero was uncharacteristically passive.  His only participation coming in the form of tilting back his head to allow the blonde to trial kisses down the soft skin of his throat.  Quatre paused at his collarbone, stopping to study the seemingly fragile protrusion before placing a soft, worshipful kiss there before continuing.

Quatre took his time, nibbling his way down the Japanese man's sculpted chest until he reached his stomach.  Heero's muscles were still relaxed and motionless, the only sign of enjoyment the harshening of his breath.  The blonde shot a measuring glance up at his face.  Heero's eyes were closed in a parody of sleep, pink lips slightly parted.  Quatre turned back to his self-appointed task, exhaling warm puffs of air onto his lover's belly teasingly.  The muscles rippled in a silent shudder.  Grinning smugly at the reaction, and deciding to stop teasing, he hooked his fingers in the band of Heero's sweatpants and pulled them smoothly off in one complete motion.  Quatre clamored back to his previous position, though this time he moved lower.

And than somebody knocked on the door.

Quatre spit out an uncharacteristic curse.  He remained still for several moments, hoping frantically that whoever was there would take the hint and go away, but the pounding only got louder and more insistent.  He glanced up to Heero's face; cobalt eyes were open and glaring at the ceiling in clear frustration.

The blonde realized that whoever was there wasn't planning on going away any time soon.  Sighing, he climbed off the bed.  Pausing to snag a robe, he walked out of the bedroom and to the door, pulling it open.  No sooner had he done so before Trowa, for that was who had been knocking, pushed past him without even bothering to even say hello.  He moved quickly, throwing open doors and checking rooms.

Quatre watched curiously for a minute, then turned and shot a questioning glance at Wufei, who had arrived behind the tall pilot, but had not yet advanced into the room.  Instead, he stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.  He didn't meet the blonde's gaze, his dark eyes remained glued to pilot 03's muscular frame.

Trowa finally stopped his mysterious search at the entrance to the bedroom, where a very naked Heero sat in the center of the king-sized mattress.  He made no move to grab a blanket to cover his nudity.  Clearly, he felt that the full-blown death glare he was wearing was more than sufficient as clothing.

"He's not here."  It wasn't a question, and the dejection in the tall man's voice was clearly audible.

"Who's not here?  Duo?"

Trowa leaned against the doorframe wearily, not answering Quatre's question.  Instead, Wufei was the one to speak, voice neutral.  "He's missing."

Duo groaned, bleary violet eyes blinking open cautiously.  "Damn," he muttered, "what the fuck was I drinking last night?"  He tried to sit up, then hissed in pain as his abused head let him know exactly what it thought of that idea.  He reached up to cradle the abused appendage, only to blink with surprise when he felt the painful knot on the back of his head.

"Shit."  He felt stupid.  Duo, of all people, should have known the difference between a hangover and a head injury.  God knows he had enough of both.  He looked up again, slower this time, to take in his surroundings.

What he saw was not reassuring.

The last thing he remembered was falling, but that still didn't explain where he was now.  He was in a featureless room, gray walls, gray ceiling, gray floor.  As far as he could tell, there was no door, and there certainly weren't any windows, so how the hell had he ended up here?

Duo cautiously got to his feet.  He staggered slightly, but somehow managed to remain upright, then, moving slowly so as not to jar his head, he paced the room, inspecting the walls.  His first impression was confirmed; they were eerily seamless.  He stilled, leaning his aching head wearily against the wall, motionless, until in a sudden fit of frustration he punched the unyielding surface.

Duo began to swear angrily at his own stupidity, pulling the bruised knuckles to his mouth.  He started his cursing in English, but finding it inadequate, he continued in French, Japanese, Chinese, Italian, and even Arabic.  He glared wrathfully at the wall.  It was made of some kind of metal.  Not gundanium, certainly, but it might as well have been.

The stream of multi-lingual curses ended.  Okay.  So he was trapped.  No different than any other situation he had been in during the war.

Except of course for that disconcerting lack of doors.

"Why is it always me in these situation?"  Usually he at least had a lock to pick, though come to think of it, that certainly hadn't helped when he and Wufei had been held in that Oz cell on the moon, helplessly waiting for their oxygen supply to run out . . .  Oh, that was a wonderful thing to think about Maxwell, let's make sure to remember my buddy Wuffers.  Wufei, and that wonderful little scene he had witnessed.  Come to think of it, hadn't Trowa been around during that little cell escapade too?

Duo lurched to the middle of the room and raised his fist, shouting at the ceiling.  "Could my life possibly get any worse?!"  Then, as if the gods had just been waiting for him to tempt fate, something happened.  He lowered his arm, looking around wildly as he heard a quiet mechanical noise.  Suddenly he had a very bad feeling.

Small holes had opened in the previously featureless walls.  He stared at the innocuous little openings, desperately trying to ignore the tightening in his stomach that signified extreme danger.  Another small sound reached his sharp ears, and he watched as a thin stream of water began to shoot out of each hole one by one.  The liquid snaked across the monochrome floor, moving slowly but surely to eddy around his feet, barely wetting the soles of his running shoes.

Duo tore his hypnotized gaze away from the water, once again taking in the blank, gray, and apparently airtight box that he was trapped in.  Perhaps this situation had more in common with the moon base cell than he had first thought.  Right now, it was a very small amount of water, but chances were good, at least with his luck, that it wouldn't stay that way.  It would rise until it reached the ceiling, and then . . .

"Ah, fuck."

" . . . and then he ran off, and we weren't in any position to follow.  We've been searching the resort all night, but he's made himself scarce."

Quatre frowned, sitting on the rumpled bed by a now fully clothed Heero.  Trowa and Wufei sat ensconced in the plush white armchairs decorating the other side of the bedroom.  They were all quiet for several uncomfortable moments before Heero spoke.  "If there's one thing Duo's good at, it's hiding.  If he doesn't want to be found . . . " He trailed off, the implications obvious.

The blonde bit his tongue, fighting to keep himself from shouting out the most irritating four word combination in the English language:  "I told you so!"  He glanced discreetly at Heero out of the corner of his eye.  The Japanese man's jaw was tense.  A sure, though stoic, sign that he was actually worried about the "American baka," as he so lovingly called him.

Finally, the quiet had dragged on to long for Quatre to resist temptation, though he chose something at least a little subtler than "I told you so."  " He'll come to us when he's ready, and when he does, you two have to stop playing these ridiculous seduction games.  If you had just been straight with him in the beginning, none of this would have happened!"

Trowa hung his head, clearly stung by the blonde's words, though when he looked up again his face was carefully composed into its protective expressionless mask.  For once Quatre was too angry to care if Trowa chose to revert to wartime defense mechanisms.

However, Wufei was not.  "We only approached him in that way because being blunt would have destroyed any chance we had.  He's to used to being alone, and way to damned stubborn, to accept or even acknowledge any feelings he may have unless he has time to decide them on his own!"

"You could have been upfront, and then backed off to give him room to decide for himself!"

"You know that wouldn't have . . ."

"How do you know?"  They were both shouting now.  Wufei had moved to stand protectively in front of Trowa, deflecting the blonde's antagonism towards himself.  "You never gave him any chance to . . ."

"Damn it, Winner!"  Wufei interrupted angrily.  "If we had just proposed a relationship we would have lost him!  How can you not know that about Duo, don't you know that he . . . what the hell is that?!"

The argument abruptly came to a crashing halt as something small and yellow zipped over their heads.  The tiny form flitted drunkenly around the room before running smack into the dresser mirror and falling limply to the wooden surface.

Quatre moved several feet so that he could see the creature that had invaded their room.  "Piranga Olivacea, it's another scarlet tanager," the blonde said quietly, having inadvertently absorbed more from Heero's impromptu lecture then he had originally cared to.  He started to walk toward it again, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.  His lover had a gun in his hand, (who knew how he had managed to smuggle that through security), and was pointing it at the motionless animal.  "I don't think the bird is armed, Heero."  Quatre said dryly.

Ducking the restraining hand, the blonde moved over to the dresser, Trowa joining him seconds later.  The bedraggled creature was still alive, wings flapping erratically.  It attempted to chirp, but the sound that emerged was more of a piteous croak, so unlike its usual melodious song.

Trowa cupped his hands around the small songbird, bringing it up to his chest to be cradled.  It calmed slightly in the arms of the tall pilot, than let out another sad, off key sound as its last word before going completely still.

Trowa made no move to set the dead bird down, and Wufei walked to him and put a comforting hand on his arm.  He frowned, dark eyes looking up and meeting Quatre's.  "Once is a coincidence.  Two dying here is not."

"Someone killed it."

All three ex-pilots looked up at Trowa's quiet statement.  Holding the bird cupped in the palm of his left hand, he held it so they could all see.  The feathers on its breast were sadly bedraggled, bare patches of skin showing through.  In the naked spots, a line of finely done black stitches marched their way across the bird's chest like a parade of army ants.  A small dark triangle of synthetic material brutally poked its way out at the top.  "There's something inside," Trowa said evenly.

Heero immediately had his gun out again.  His arm shot out to grab the blonde's shoulder, pulling him away.  "Barton, Chang, get away from it now, it could be an explosive."

Quatre, however, dug in his heels, resisting his lover by widening his stance to make it harder to manhandle him.  His empathy was acting up again, this time being more useful.  Whatever was inside the poor bird was not a danger to them, but it was important.  "It's not a bomb.  Wufei, give me your knife."  And when the Chinese man didn't immediately comply:  "I know you have one."

Wufei looked questioningly at Heero.  Quatre's jaw tightened, and he held out his hand in a clear command.  Finally, the dark-eyed man reached into his boot and pulled out a long blade.  Quatre took it, and then went to stand in front of Trowa.  The tall pilot hesitated, his arm tightening protectively over the limp bird, than relaxing suddenly as he silently handed it over.

Quatre cradled it gently, then placed it on the dresser table, putting his body in Trowa's line of sight, hoping, mostly futilely, to spare him what he would have to do next.  The blonde held the knife over the bird's body, and with the precision of a surgeon, delicately slid the blade underneath the stitches, snapping them one by one until he reached the mysterious protrusion.  He then efficiently spread the chest cavity and carefully pried out the gore-covered object.

Without being asked, Wufei went to the bathroom and got Quatre a couple of towels.  He used one to carefully cover the bird's body, shrouding it so that all could be seen was a small lump.  The other towel he used to wipe off the item.

It was a mini-communicator.

Holding it so that they could all see, Quatre flipped a switch on the side.  The small screen on the front turned on, a picture resolving itself out of the blankness.  Quatre stiffened.

It was Duo.

He was in a small, featureless gray room.  The American was up to his waist in water, the end of his long braid trailing in it.  As they watched, he splashed over to one of the walls, turning his head so that his face was visible to the camera.  Duo looked murderous.  He shouted something inaudible at the ceiling.  Quatre would bet money that it had something to do with his captor's animal ancestry, probably something less than flattering about their mother.  But despite the façade of smart-ass bravado, Quatre knew Duo well enough to see that he was scared.  The camera zoomed in on his face, giving a clear shot of wide violet eyes, before going blank.

"Duo!"  The blonde screamed at the now disturbingly dark communicator.

His cry was heard, as a voice crackled to life over the small machine.  "My oh my, this is a desperate situation."  The voice was male, cultured, and practically dripping with malice.  "By my estimation, the room will fill completely with water in exactly 3 hours and 11 minutes.  He'll drown then, though maybe it will take a couple of minutes more.  It all depends on how long he can hold his breath."

Out of the corner of his eye, Quatre saw Heero set his watch.  "What do you want?"

"Tisk, what an unoriginal question.  I expected better of you, Quatre Raberba Winner.  What I want, dear boy is for you to follow my instructions."

 The blonde frowned.  "How do I know he's not already dead?"

"You just saw him.  Do you doubt your eyes?"

"This device doesn't have direct video capabilities.  You recorded this some time ago.  You can't see us, we can't see you, and you can't show us Duo as he is now."

There was a pause.

"You clever, clever boy.  But actually, you're only partially right.  I see all.

Quatre's jaw tightened.  "I'll ask you again.  What assurance do we have that he's still alive?"

There was a rich chuckle.  "None.  You'll just have to trust me.  I spoke the truth about his 3 hours and 11 minutes, oh excuse me, 3 hours and 9 minutes."

Quatre glared at the communicator and the hateful voice it was broadcasting.  They had no choice.  He could see his thoughts reflected in the faces of his friends.  None of them would leave Duo if there were even a chance that he was still alive.  "What do you want us to do?"

"Actually, it's what I want you to do.  You will follow my directions exactly, and if you're fast enough, you'll be in time to rescue your friend.  I think it's time we met face to face, don't you?  No authorities, of course.  Though as a gesture of my goodwill, I'll even allow you to bring along the angry Chinese boy."

Wufei bristled.

"If I see even a shadow that resembles your other companions, he will die.  I'll contact you again shortly."  The communicator shut off.

"Who does this idiot think he is?"  Wufei started angrily.  "I'm going to shove my katana so far up his . . . "  Quatre held out his hand for silence, cutting the irate young man off mid-sentence.

The blonde turned to Heero.  His lips began to move, but no sound emerged.  His lover's lips were trained on his mouth, following his silent explanation.  He's got video surveillance with both audio and visual capabilities.  But he's not yet aware that I know.  We need to go someplace where he can't monitor us, and we have to do it without tipping him off.

Heero did nothing to give away their game.  Instead he made careful conversation, leading them all back to his and Quatre's room under the pretense of getting the two who were to go ready.  Trowa and Wufei caught on quickly, and followed.

Once back indoors, Heero scored the room, quickly finding the cameras.  He led them all to the bedroom, where there was only one device.  Continuing to discuss other matters, he sat Quatre down behind his hack-proofed laptop, with the screen facing away from the camera.

Quatre typed.  Not only has he tapped into resort surveillance, he's added some of his own.

Heero leaned over the blonde, pretending to help him search for potential enemies among Preventer files.  You're not going in blind.

Quatre shoved Heero out of the way, pretending that his worry over Duo's safety was causing him to snap at his boyfriend.  He typed again.  I won't be.

Notes:  I have to say, this chapter has been frustrating with a capital "F," and the rest of the story doesn't look to be any better.  So I would really appreciate some feedback and/or ideas.  I'm not sure about the realism of the interaction between the characters (are they OOC?) or their personalities.  The animosity between Quatre and Wufei surprised even me, and the only character whose head I feel I got inside of was Duo's.

Diane:  I hate to say this, but I just can't leave you falsely hopeful.  It's too cruel.  Zechs won't be making an appearance in this story.  For all I know, he's off to Mars again with Noin.  Sorry!

Laurel-Crowned:  Um, yeah, I'm being a little mean to poor Duo, and this chapter probably didn't change your opinion.  Just keep this in mind:  GreenLady is a big believer in the happy ending.

And, before I get flamed for animal cruelty:

No birds were harmed in the making of this story.