Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and other people who aren't me. I make no money off of this little endeavor.
Warnings: Same as usual: yaoi, violence, and sexual situations. If you don't like it or are too young (physically or mentally) please, don't read it!
Author Notes: Major thanks to Willowbranch, who is a great beta reader and managed to save me from a potentially embarrassing Freudian slip. (Willowbranch – I refuse to be held responsible for what my subconscious does, but I guess now we both know what I really wanted to write).
Chapter 6The first sound to intrude on Quatre's consciousness was an irritating, continuous beeping. After all the time he had spent in hospitals, it sounded familiar. A heart monitor? He thought groggily.
He opened scratchy eyes, than tried to lift an arm to rub at them.
Tried being the operative word.
Blinking groggily, his gaze traveled up his arm, past the communicator still strapped to his wrist, until he could see his hand. Well, that explains it, he thought sardonically. There was a strap secured around his wrist. He turned his head to the other side, not terribly surprised to see an identical strap there, too. A glance down confirmed that his ankles were also secured, the result being that Quatre was strapped full-length to what appeared to be an operating table, its metal chilly against his bare back. His shirt had been removed and several wires sprung from his chest, stuck to the skin with round pieces of hospital tape. The wires connected him to the monitor. The noise that had dragged him from unconsciousness had been the beating of his own heart.
There was a second machine beside the first. Quatre recognized this one as a monitor measuring his brain waves. He could feel the wires connecting him to it on his temple.
Craning his neck at an uncomfortable angle, the blonde finally took in the rest of his surroundings. He was in the center of a drab, sterile-feeling room. There were white walls and a gray floor; the only shocks of color came from his own hair and a brightly plumaged bird caged in contrast to the otherwise tepid white wall in front of him. The creature hopped from its perch to the wire mesh of its cage, cocking its head inquisitively at the bound boy. For a second, aquamarine eyes locked with beady black, and the bird chirped quietly, as if in sympathy.
A noise distracted him from his pity party with the scarlet tanager, and Quatre craned his head in the other direction as he heard footsteps approaching. A man stepped into his line of vision.
He was a tall man with wild brown hair and a scruffy beard; obviously neither had been trimmed in a long while. His body was adorned in a white lab coat that hung grotesquely off of his emancipated frame, and piercing, pale blue eyes burned in their sockets. Taken all together, the man reminded Quatre of a scarecrow, the kind that could be seen in old horror films. Its victim would see nothing but a harmless, inanimate object, until it moved and ripped their entrails out.
The blonde had never seen this man before in his life. He wouldn't have forgotten someone that scary. He was as ugly as Dr. H.
The man's mouth twisted, (it was either a smile or a sneer, Quatre couldn't tell which through the nest of unkempt beard). "Welcome to my home, Mr. Winner." His voice was a disturbing contrast with his appearance, smooth and rich, not the animal-like growl that was expected. It was the same cultured voice that had led him here.
Quatre studied him, debating with himself for a second on how to respond. Finally he nodded cautiously. "I can't say that it's a pleasure, Mr. . . .?" He trailed off and looked at the man expectantly.
"Morris, Ivan Morris."
The name didn't ring any bells in the blonde's memory. "I'm sorry Mr. Morris, have we met before?"
"Not directly Mr. Winner, but I have been wanting to meet with you for a long time." His voice stayed light and unconcerned as he added the next part. "Ever since you murdered my wife."
Quatre's eyes widened, momentarily speechless. He stared at the man in front of him, than replied in the same calm tone. "I'm sorry again Mr. Morris, but I can't recall your wife." He waited for Ivan to fly into a rage.
But there was no reaction that extreme forthcoming. "That's not at all unexpected. You've killed so many; I wouldn't expect you to remember them all. My wife was a scientist, you see. She worked on a small satellite you blew up. I believe shortly after that you also destroyed a colony, so I'm not surprised the satellite left so miniscule of an impression."
Quatre felt a sudden painful knot form in his stomach. The events Morris was referring to had happened when the zero system had driven him crazy, or rather, when the death of his father had unhinged him. Technically the zero system had only exacerbated the problem, as he had found out during the whole fiasco with Everett Orth and the Red Formula.
Ivan moved behind Quatre and pushed a cluttered rolling table forward into his line of vision. He picked up a clipboard and studied the papers on it thoughtfully. "I took the liberty of taking some x-rays while you were out. It's absolutely fascinating. Your brainwaves are highly abnormal. Even more so after being injected with the Red Formula."
"You know about that?"
"Oh of course. My wife and I developed the preliminary batch together. Then the war had the unfortunate timing to end and I was left without any funding to continue our life's work. Until Everett Orth came along, that is."
Quatre stiffened. "You worked for Orth?"
"I wouldn't really put it like that. It was more like we had a mutually beneficial partnership, and I rather enjoyed having a partner that was so close to your family. Though I was terribly upset with him for almost killing you. He had promised I would be given that privilege. But it all works out in the end. I rather like the idea of using you as a test subject for a drug created by the woman you killed. I know she would have enjoyed studying the results, and I hope you can appreciate the irony. After all, your case is so unique."
The scarlet tanager chirped in the corner, and Quatre's eyes were drawn to the little animal. "What's with the birds?"
Morris followed his gaze. "They're here for purely sentimental reasons. They were my wife's favorite animals to experiment on. She thought mice were terribly blasé."
Quatre was beginning to lose any guilt he had for accidentally killing the woman. She sounded like she was as much of a monster as her husband. "So, what exactly are you planning on doing with me?"
"Hmm?" The bearded man lifted his head from the chart he had been studying. "Oh, I'll have to run some more tests to find out exactly why my lovely formula had such an unexpected effect on you. I'm sure they'll all be quite painful for you. But before we start that I have something else planned."
Morris picked up a small remote from the table and aimed it at the wall in front of Quatre. A section of it parted to the side, revealing a set of darkened monitors. He pressed another button and a picture flashed on.
Quatre couldn't help the small gasp that escaped. It was Duo. He was floating in a room full of water, clinging desperately to the ceiling and the half-foot of air that was left there.
"He only has about ten minutes left before the room fills completely. Then it will all come down to how long he can hold his breath."
Quatre's hands tightened into fists within their restraints. Morris's communicator dug painfully into one of his wrists. "Why are you doing this? I'm the only one responsible for your wife's death."
"Yes you are. Which is why this is so fitting. You can watch your lover die. Just try and live without like I have."
Quatre blinked in surprise. "He's not . . ." The blonde shut his mouth abruptly. He wasn't sure how Morris had gotten Duo mixed up with Heero as his boyfriend. He certainly wasn't the first to think that something was going on between them. Maybe Wufei was right about the appearance of their relationship seeming less than platonic. Either way, Quatre sensed there was nothing he could say to convince the madman to let either of them go.
Morris pushed another button, causing the picture on the monitor to change. This time it showed a familiar figure walking cautiously into a drab room. Quatre winced when he recognized the short black ponytail.
Wufei was heading for the opposite exit when both the doors slid shut, trapping him inside a featureless box. The blonde couldn't hear what he was saying, but his lips were definitely moving in what Quatre thought were probably elaborate curses.
Though Quatre's eyes were glued to the screen, he could feel the glee emanating from Morris with his empathy.
A loud beeping above Quatre's head startled them both away from Wufei's onscreen predicament. Morris walked over to the machine measuring the blonde's brain waves and stared in astonishment. "This can't be right," he muttered, "your brain waves are peaking." Quatre craned his head up to get a look at the monitor. One of the lines across the screen kept fluctuating into a sharp spiked shape. As he watched, it settled down to normal (or as normal as his mind got) and the machine quieted. He turned to glance at Morris, and the man was frowning. Finally the white-lab coated shoulders moved in a shrug. "Must have been a malfunction. I'll have to figure it out later." It seemed he didn't want to be distracted from his fun.
He turned back to the live picture of Wufei, which was just as well because Quatre might not have been able to hide the light of realization that suddenly filled his face. The spiking of his brain waves had coincided exactly with the onset of his empathy, and they had stopped as soon as he had stopped feeling Ivan's emotions. The blonde was beginning to wonder if the Red Formula was responsible for his increased abilities. Or maybe because of Ivan Morris's connections with its creation, he had some kind of increased sensitivity to the other man. Either way now was not the time to think about it. Quatre firmly pushed all speculations to the back of his mind and focused his attention back to the events at hand, mainly Wufei on the monitor.
And stared in horror as a strange green-tinged gas jetted into the room with the Chinese boy.
It was similar to his previous situation, but the gas was the wrong color. As if reading his mind, Morris began to speak. "It's poisonous of course. I don't really have a need for this one, and he's clearly more dangerous than you are. It's actually rather ironic. One room to the south of his location is directly above your lover's water trap. He's so close. To bad he'll be dead in a couple of minutes."
While Morris was gloating Wufei had been trying both doors. Quatre could see they were locked tight, and the Chinese ex-pilot had apparently come to the same conclusion. But instead of panicking he was settling himself on the floor, looking for all the world like he was about to take a nap. The blonde stared uncomprehendingly for a moment at the strange actions before finally getting it. He turned away from the monitor, deliberately no longer looking. Instead he carefully schooled his face before turning his attention to the enemy. "Is this supposed to upset me?" Quatre asked calmly, voice bored.
His captor's gaze left the screen and focused on the blonde. Penetrating blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully. Then Morris chuckled. "No, I suppose this one's death wouldn't bother you much, except as a lost chance to save your lover. You two certainly don't seem to get along."
Quatre shrugged indifferently. "Not particularly. Wufei is a hot-headed bully."
"Ah, of course. I saw his violent actions with you on the way here. Most uncouth. I'm not surprised he frightens you."
Quatre molded his features into an expression of disbelief, but didn't make eye contact so it appeared Morris had hit the nail on the head. "That's ridiculous!"
The wild-haired man laughed richly, and once again the blonde was struck by the contrast between his voice and appearance. "I saw you after he pushed you. Don't try to lie to me young man. I'm much more intelligent than you are. Besides, you should really direct your fear toward the real danger." The beard moved in what was probably a smile. "Me."
Morris glanced back up at the screen and the prostrate Wufei, snorting in disgust. "Looks like he didn't last as long as I thought he would. It's time to move onto more interesting entertainments, don't you agree?" He turned back so that they could see Duo again. The water was inches away from the ceiling.
Duo's palms pressed against the ceiling as he treaded water desperately, trying to keep his balance in order to keep his nose above the rising water.
Duo had decided that this was one of the top ten worst ways to die. It gave him way too much time to think. He had always figured it would be quick. Maybe a sniper shot to the head or an explosion that would blow him to bits, not this slow march to death. It gave a man time to think about his regrets.
And Duo was beginning to realize that he had a lot of those.
For example, someday he had been planning on taking guitar lessons. Then maybe he could have joined Quatre and Trowa in one of their frequent duets, or if he had never gotten that good he could have at least annoyed the crap out of Wufei. Either way it was a worthy goal.
The bad thing about having a "someday" was that it could turn into "never" at the drop of a homicidal madman.
Duo figured that the person behind this would probably qualify as a homicidal madman type, or maybe it was a madwoman. He was an equal opportunity ex-terrorist himself.
The fact that his last thoughts were this irrelevant was depressing. He had always kind of figured the onset of death would make his thinking profound and full of wisdom, but no such luck.
The water was very close to the ceiling now, it lapped tauntingly at his mouth, ready to move that last inch. With the onset of death, Duo had to admit to himself that there was one thing he would regret more than anything else.
Never having been with someone.
He wanted what Quatre and Heero had. A relationship, a partnership, the chance to just be with another person. It wasn't just that he had never been in love; it was that he hadn't even tried. He should have let others know that he was interested. He should have tried to build something with Q after they survived the war, not that he begrudged Yuy his happiness with blondie. He shouldn't have pushed Trowa away, and he shouldn't have just run away when he saw Wufei and him together. Duo didn't know what have would happened if he would have stayed to talk, but at least then something would have been resolved, and he wouldn't be regretting now.
That was the worst thing about regrets, they were a person's own damned fault.
Duo was almost out of air. He took a deep breath and then held it as the water closed over his head. He floated underneath the water with his braid slowly unraveling behind him, as if the tendrils themselves were searching for something. He could probably hold his breath for about six minutes, but then it would all be over. No more regretting.
And no more hope.
Sometimes, Duo wished he believed in a kinder god then Death.
