That's Childish, So Childish…
Chapter Eleven: You've Forgotten All The Promises Of That First Friend …
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer—Owning nil has it's benefits… Nobody can take it away.
Warnings—Eventual 2x6, at least in theory, not that you'll see anything more than the vaguest of insinuations yet. Sarcasm. Panic. Minor swearing. Things /almost/ blow up. Make that lots of things almost blow up.
Party poopers arrive at the Maganacs' village and poop the party. Duo and Quatre get a quick course in Oz Explosives 101—How NOT To Blow Yourself Up! Zechs does something disobedient.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duo leaned his backwards chair closer to the windowsill, frowning, arms folded before him, as he watched the activity in the fading light outside. Quatre, standing, also kept curious vigil, but from farther back in the room, where his fair hair was less of a beacon. The room was dark—and Duo's really, which they had decided had the best vantage point.
//I don't trust those guys as far as I could kick their trucks…// Duo mused grimly, watching the machines rumbling in single file up the main dirt street towards the celebrating people. He could still hear the celebration continuing…
//By now the Sheikh knows as well, and the Maganacs must be almost all in position…//
"There's a lot of them," Quatre murmured from behind the braided pilot.
//That's likely to change,// Duo growled mentally, eyes narrowing sharply as the line trailed to a halt. "I promised nothing… If it looks ugly, I'm helping out."
Quatre shifted uneasily behind him. "Duo… please, not unless there seems to be no other choice. I'd… like to try and accede to Rashid's wishes. He's right, you know—if either of us join in, and they get word out about a Gundam here…"
He didn't have to finish. Duo made a face. //Yeah, they'd hit us with everything they could dig up. It's one thing to hit /them/ off-guard, but if they can hit /us/ before we're ready, we're dead and dead /fast/!// "I know," he accepted with a sigh. "But better word gets out about us and your pals end up mad with me than your pals ending up dead."
Quatre had no answer for that, nor did Duo expect one. They just watched the soldiers below…
They could distantly hear that the celebration had died into silence in the center of the village. Then someone's voice carried, addressing the crowd loudly, though Duo couldn't distinguish the words from this distance, only a rising and falling tone.
//It doesn't matter, though. They're either staying, or not. And if they're up to anything, they're hardly going to tell us straight out.//
Under Duo and Quatre's unnoticed eyes, however, one truck stirred, and disgorged its inhabitants silently. Dark figures scurried through the shadowy streets below, forcing Duo to squint to make them out and figure out what they were up to.
//Something in the back…? They're taking out some kind of crate… Takes four of them at least! I wonder what's in it… They're hardly a group to deliver weapons to us. But with all the townsfolk up there, listening to their leader, nobody's going to notice these things!//
He felt a sudden urge to stick his head out the window and see if trucks farther back down the line were doing the same—dropping off packages—but he knew better. The light was fading, but not gone yet! And if they were performing these activities here, now, where the locals couldn't see, that meant two things…
//One—they don't want anyone to watch. And two—any witnesses are sure to be silenced permanently! A Gundam pilot is of no use to the colonies dead, though—so keep your head in Maxwell!//
"What could be in those boxes?" Quatre breathed softly, curiosity itching in his voice.
//Just about anything from propaganda to cumbersome supplies they might want to drop, to useless equipment, to weapons and bombs. Yep, just about anything!// "I think we should go see when we get the chance…"
"I agree."
The box was neatly tucked against a shadowy wall by a closed shop, pretending it belonged there, politely out of the way of road traffic. Duo eyed it sharply, scratching at the back of his head, feeling a chill tease his spine as the bearers snuck back into their vehicle.
//I don't like this. I don't like it at all.//
"It's a danger. Something about those boxes is dangerous," Quatre's voice carried faintly to his ears.
//I can agree with that.//
The trucks started up again, then the line began moving on…
"They're leaving?" Duo wondered out loud, a bit puzzled. //Does this mean they're going to try ambushing if any of us "rebels" leave the village? Or are they going for good? Or… What /could/ be in these boxes? Something to flush us out into a barrage of gunfire?//
"Seems so," Quatre confirmed as the last truck rumbled by. He dared step closer to the window, frowning a bit in puzzlement, his gaze stuck to the unknown crate barely visible across the street.
For a moment, both Gundam pilots glared at the unwanted "gift" suspiciously.
"Well, better go check it out, then." Duo gripped the edge of the windowsill with both hands—and vaulted over, landing neatly on his feet in the street.
Deathscythe's pilot made it to the crate in a couple strides, and studied it with hands on hips a moment. Then he heard Quatre's feet hit the ground with a soft thud behind him, felt the other pilot follow him to inspect the crate from behind his shoulder.
//Where to start, where to start… Which end is up? Rude of them not to mark it…// "We'll need some tools, I think. A crowbar to start. But I'm /always/ prepared for this."
With a broad grin, Duo reached to the back of his belt—and pulled a lengthy piece of heavy, hook-ended black metal from his belt and showed it to Quatre proudly. //Never leave home without it! Can't mention the millions of times it helped me out. /Never/ attempt to assault a mechanic—that's /asking/ for pain.//
Quatre looked from crowbar to owner and back as if uncertain he should ask. From his expression, the Arabian young man decided against it.
Duo couldn't help a chuckle at his fellow's expression, though. Quatre was giving him a look that better suited someone taking their eccentric choice in pets for a walk on a leash—say, a skunk or deadly viper.
//Well, now to see what we've found…//
With the ease of a professional salvage expert, Duo rammed the flat end under the lid of the crate and straightened, slamming down on the blunt side of the hook.
With a soft creak, the lid came up.
//Oh shit.//
"A bomb," Quatre breathed softly, hands resting on the side of the crate—and tightening angrily. "How… How /dare/ they? There are innocent people here—families, children…!"
Duo shoved the lid back against the wall, so the crate would stay open, and eyed the interlaced wires before them. //Damn and damn and damn! I don't know /this/ kind of set-up! /Heero/ might, but he's not here… It looks like… yes, there's a timer there, and a remote-control receptor there, but the rest is as tangled as a bowl of spaghetti! And that piece… Oh, royal shit…//
"They can detonate by remote, too, it looks like… not just a timer… and they've got it set to go off if moved, with that Global Positioning Device hookup right there… And… It's set for midnight!"
"We have to tell the Sheikh—and Rashid—and get everyone out of here," suggested Quatre. "Unless… well, you said you were a mechanic on that salvage ship, Duo. Do you think you can disarm this?"
Duo leaned into the box, tracing a few wires with his fingers, a thrill of adrenaline charging his blood… //Maybe, if I'd time… If I'd some experience with this kind of spaghetti… How do they color-code their explosives? I know how the /rebels/ color-code… But we don't have time, and if I cut the wrong thing, it might set /all/ of them off prematurely!//
Studying the mess in his hands, and thinking of the possible consequences, the black-clad Gundam pilot paused a long moment… then straightened, shaking his head. "I don't know this kind of set-up well enough to chance it. With time, maybe, and a good look at an old dud, maybe… but we don't have either. This kind of thing wasn't really my forte, you know."
Hope died in Quatre's eyes, and both looked back into the crate with a mixture of anger and determination.
"Heero probably would know," Duo sighed softly. //He's /never/ around when you need him!//
Quatre tightened a glare at the tangle of wires and explosives. "Why…? Why would they kill innocent people like this?"
"They never really /do/ change, I suppose," came a soft reply behind them, sounding disgusted.
//Zechs!// Duo whirled to stare at the pale form, ghostlike in the darkening street behind them. "They do this kind of thing often, then…," he answered, unable to hold a growl from his voice, though it wasn't directed at the boy.
Gleaming white-blonde hair dipped in a nod, as Zechs stepped closer to peer over the edge of the crate at its contents. "It's why I helped Treize's coup de tat." Long hair trailed over the edge of the crate to brush the wiring as the owner frowned studiously at the tangle.
"Your revenge…," Quatre acknowledged, understanding. His voice hardened as he added, "I can understand, I think…"
//Yes, that's why he joined, he said—to help destroy the Alliance and undo some of their actions… Wait a minute, how do you undo their actions? You can't bring lives back—so what /can/ you do?// Duo scratched the back of his head, bemused. //Though I can sympathize, too… They killed my "family," after all—the only kind I've ever really known...//
Icy blue eyes flicked to Quatre, gleaming like a cat's in the moonlight. And in them was a sorrow that Duo recognized, a rage he knew and still felt himself, a pain he too still had yet to come to terms with. Only amplified. Not just loss fueled Zechs's feelings. Something else contributed, but what, Duo couldn't pinpoint… because it wasn't something he'd experienced personally before.
"You /can't/ understand," Zechs whispered at Quatre quietly, those eyes shifting back to the bomb. He half-buried himself in the crate, lightly- bandaged hands fingering a few wires Duo had traced a short while before.
//Um… I just did that, kiddo. It doesn't help. The wires don't sort themselves out for you when you stroke them.// But Duo understood what Zechs meant. Quatre still had his family, a home to go back to later, loved ones likely worried about him right now. //So that explains the nightmares. He survived an Alliance attack that killed his family… and simply went about his revenge on a different path from my way. I never considered attacking from /inside/, though they'd least expect it…//
Pale hair was mingling with wiring in the vanishing light, though the former stood out like a glimmer of hope even in the shadows. Quatre simply watched, seeming thoughtful. Duo blinked slowly at Zechs as the boy continued delving into what was starting to seem like an expert examination, uncertain if the boy might find something he hadn't… and trying not to listen to the whisper of hope at the back of his mind saying that the boy /could/ and that's why it was taking longer.
"As I said, they never change… and for once, that's good," the youth's voice carried from the mass of shadowed wiring and curtain of pale hair.
//What?//
"What do you mean?" Quatre piped up.
//I want to know, too… Did I miss something?// Duo leaned over the side, squinting to see what Zechs was up to. Hard to see with all that hair and low light, and even Zechs had to shove gossamer strands out of his way occasionally.
"They shove every cadet through some basic explosives training… With all the terrorist attacks on Oz and alliance bases, though, that's to be expected. But they teach how /their/ bombs are set up—which is good if the enemy borrows your stuff, but /not/ good if they make their own…" There was a grunt, and the boy squirmed, trying to reach farther…
A pause. Then the sound of someone spitting their own hair from their mouth. Then more squirming.
"If I could just…! Ah, yes. He /would/ put such in here…"
Duo exchanged looks with Quatre. //He /knows/ the bunch that was just here? Or the bomb's maker? Well… I guess either one would make sense, as he was part of Oz, but… Well, I hope he can do something!// "Can you disarm it?" Deathscythe's pilot asked sharply.
"Give me… Ungh… One minute…" Zechs hooked a knee on the edge and dug deeper. "Fools…! That shouldn't be upside-down…"
Quatre shifted his weight a bit restlessly. "There might be others—and we only have until midnight. We need to know, Zechs," he insisted urgently.
"It'd be easier if I had light, some twist-ties, a hairband, and while you're at it, my lost three-plus feet back," came the sarcastic rejoinder from the boy almost falling into the crate. "But… yes, I think I can show you how… in enough time… not to need to evacuate…"
//Hey, that's good! But we'd better be careful…// Duo flashed Quatre a grin as the blonde Gundam pilot breathed a sigh of relief. "You go tell the townsfolk, Quatre, and get some tools. But I say we stick together in groups—no knowing if they dropped /people/ off as well!"
Zechs's head popped up at that, and he wiped long bangs and sweat from his eyes. "Commander Girald wouldn't consider it," he stated confidently. "I /know/ this tactic…" Those eyes stared into some distant, invisible horror behind the Gundam pilots for a long moment… "I know it well…"
//His… His family, maybe? They were killed somehow like this?// Duo wondered. He couldn't see a connection, though. As far as he knew, the Alliance never got credit for delivering bombs like this before… //Though that doesn't mean they never /did/ that!//
Zechs blinked, then shook his head, coming out of his memories and offering a quick explanation. "It's to flush your Maganac Corps friends out into a killing gauntlet," he said, waving a hand at the village around them—nearly falling into the crate as a result.
Duo grabbed his belt, smirking as he saved the youth from slapping face- first into the tangled—and potentially deadly—contents of the crate. //Silly kid. Got to have someone look out for you or you'll hurt your pretty little face!// "We kind of guessed that much."
Quatre glanced towards the desert, not smiling. "Using innocents…? Or are they just 'caught in the crossfire'?"
As Duo helped Zechs return to his feet on solid ground, he watched the boy slump his shoulders at Quatre's words.
But Zechs's next words chilled them all to the bone.
"No… it's intentional." The words were bitter, carrying an icy echo of helpless anger. "Justified slaughter of accomplices and supporters… They don't care." Jaws gritted with the faint snap of teeth meeting firmly, and the pale boy growled, "Their rule is this: there /are/ no innocents in war."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zechs glared at the crate as he and Duo waited for Quatre to bring tools, light, and others to help find and disarm the rest of the bombs likely delivered that evening. Memories swirled at the edge of his thoughts, resisting attempts to drive them away, rather like painful gnats picking at his consciousness. They wouldn't leave him alone.
//**Flames roaring in the palace, thick smoke choking and smothering and blinding, making his eyes run and his lungs ache… People running to escape, for the safety of outside, screaming as shots filled the air—almost all kin of his, people he knew, choosing the swifter death of gunfire from the waiting firing squad outside to that of burning alive… And he stood still inside, unable to choose… Because he had to live… /Someone/ had to! And to do that, he had to find a way to get out… Alive… Somehow…**//
Duo was silent, a darker shadow in the darkness—Zechs's eyes couldn't pick him out anymore, but he could feel the Gundam pilot waiting, watching patiently, an air of quiet determination radiating from him.
Miri just closed his eyes, leaned his back against the side of the crate, and let the memories come.
//**Down—that had to be the way to go. Somewhere, on the ground floor, there had to be a way… Getting there was easy, but the blood on the walls, the torn and flaming hangings, the still bodies he nearly fell over on the floor, they were like bullets riddling his soul… Like the servants, like many of his relatives, he had heard the gunfire of assassination below and run down to aid those downstairs, only to be chased back up by further shots—and now were trapped in an inferno intentionally set to finish them off… He hadn't imagined the sights he would see, the faces of those massacred, his parents among them… but they drove him all the harder to endure, to survive, to escape! And then—a lucky break—a glimpse of movement—and he dove after it in silence, keeping low under the worst of the smoke… Abruptly he fell into clear air, tripping over the threshold of the garden doors—and luckily so, for the plundering soldier he had followed turned to glance back and ended up looking well over his head… Taking a single deep breath, he had taken one more stumbling step to get out of the building and duck into the bushes either side of the doors, ignoring flaming chunks of roofing trickling down onto his hair like sparkling remnants of fireworks, desperately smothering his gasping breaths into a singed and ragged sleeve so he wouldn't be heard… So he wouldn't be shot.**//
Duo shifted, sitting on the dirt with his back to the crate—Zechs could hear and feel the movement, but not see it. Night was here, and had taken control. It seemed to echo the despair he felt back then…
//**Glass exploded from the picture windows above, sharp shards raining down on his head like confetti. He didn't feel pieces cutting through cloth and into skin, the bushes not protecting him much from the sharp hail. He /did/ see a large jagged chunk, the size of a dagger of old, slap into the dirt right by his hand like a mocking gift from heaven. And something made him pick it up, wince as the sharp sides cut his fingers. Holding it, he had to smother a half-gasping laugh of despair, of hopelessness, of self-derision—what could such a puny thing do? What could /he/ do? A fragile piece of glass, against an army with guns? Nothing… It was all futile. The world was ending, and he could do nothing for those who depended on him, now that his parents were dead.**//
Distantly, absently, he could hear footsteps running through the streets, soft calls, as the villagers hunted out the other crate-bombs.
//**Footsteps dashed out of the building next to him, passing him at a desperate run, a hunched figure coughing and wheezing, clutching something—someone?—precious close to his chest, running blindly past the soldier who Miri had followed out, oblivious to the danger. The soldier yelled, lifting his gun to fire, and the escaping man glanced back, freezing… Pagan—his dark hair and moustache unmistakable, eyes wide with a bleak, almost desperate determination—a squirming young girl wrapped in a blanket clutched close protectively… Relena. The man had managed to find and grab Relena. Relena—who Miri had hunted for in the flames and smoke until it drove him down from the upper levels of the palace for at least /slightly/ clearer air, heart-broken and guessing she was already dead… Pagan had saved a hope that Miri had given up on… **//
//**Miri had no choice—some higher power drove him to act, and forever changed him then and there.**//
The boy's pale head lifted towards the stars, his pained gaze staring beyond their twinkling lights.
//**The soldier never knew what hit him. Miri didn't make a sound—who would have breath to after all that smoke?—as he ran up behind the man and jumped as high as he could, at the man's shoulders, the chunk of jagged glass flashing down between both his hands and driven by momentum and all the child's weight… It sank in like a hot knife into butter, diving between ribs, into lungs, as the soldier staggered beneath the impact, went down… Then Miri was kneeling on the man's back, staring at what he'd done, at his slashed hands, his blood mingling with that of the soldier… The soldier coughed once, then lay still… so still beneath him. Dead.**//
//I killed him…//
People walked up, carrying a light… Distantly, Zechs felt like he had an audience of ghosts watching those memories with him, for those who arrived must have seen his blank, staring gaze and kindly decided to wait…
//**He had looked up, horrified at himself, numbed to the core, to catch Pagan's gentle, sad gaze, to see the man reach a hand towards him as if to save him, to see the man's lips move, shaping his name… Miri hadn't heard it. The roaring fire and guns and screams of people dying at the other ends of the palace seemed to drown everything… and take Miri's soul with them. He had stared at that proffered hand—and known right then that he couldn't accept it, that what had just happened was irreparable, a step down a road he could never return.** Look at what I've done… What have I become? My God… My God… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm SORRY! **So much blood. So much death. And he had leapt to his feet and fled blindly out into the night leaving Pagan and Relena behind, knowing he could never return, that he was and forever will be no longer a Peacecraft… That he couldn't afford to be. It hurt, it burned with shame, it ached because it broke all the loving ties he had ever known. Another person—maybe Relena?—would have to be a Peacecraft—because someone else was needed right now, someone who had to do things a Peacecraft couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't… And he would fit that role perfectly, even if he didn't want to admit it right then…**//
Zechs shook his head slowly, almost sadly, closing his eyes and opening them slowly again, pulling free of the memories—which, now that they had a chance to give their say, seemed more willing to leave him be.
//Like a fairy-tale… A changeling neither fey nor man, apart from both worlds.// Turning his gaze, he flashed a sad smile at Duo, Quatre, and the assembled makeshift disarmament crew that flickered in the light of over a dozen torches and lamps and flashlights. //I won't let them repeat the past.// "All right, I'm ready."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duo ended up the one half-buried in the crate. Mainly because while Zechs had the knowledge, he did NOT have long enough arms to reach the right places for clipping wires, at least not without climbing into the awful mess and possibly setting something off.
//Well, call it a crash-course in Oz Bomb Design 537. It /has/ to be graduate-level. Only they would make things this complicated—and I bet it's on purpose, too!// Snagging a section of wire that apparently made up the remote set-off's connection, he wiggled it for Zechs to identify. "Okay, where do I start here?"
He could hear the boy levering higher on the side of the crate to peer at the tangled mass. "What part is it? I can't tell what kind of box it is from here."
"Remote device's pick-up. Let's see…" Duo reached out to shift a flashlight precariously balanced on the timer for a better view. "I've red, blue, light blue, green, and grey here…"
A finger tapped the wood in slow rhythm for a moment beyond his sight. Zechs was thinking…
//Well, at least we cut off the timer. Though if they try the remote set- off the moment they realize it didn't explode, that doesn't help us any…//
"Treize's rose in a blue vase," came a thoughtful murmur.
//Uh… I /really/ hope he didn't chose this moment to lose it.// "Hmm?"
"Dark blue, then red, green, light blue, grey." Zechs's voice was louder this time. "Sorry—I have interesting ways of memorizing things."
//Hey, if it works…// Wire clippers made faint snapping sounds as Duo carefully snapped the colored lengths in the correct order. "Well, it seems to have worked so far… How about this next bunch? White, cream, red, blue, orange…"
"All Oz boys get blasted?" came a half-giggle, half-chuckle. "Blue, red, cream, orange, white."
Duo laughed softly, shaking his head and pausing to throw his braid back out of his way before snipping in the correct order. "How'd you come up with these things?"
"I never said I /wanted/ to be a soldier… My whole family was against war—they'd disown me for what I am now… if they still lived." The answer was quiet, almost bitter. "Circumstances drove me onto this path, though..."
Snorting, Duo, finished clipping the last of those wires. //It's easy to get lost in society—Fate doesn't hold a knife to your throat, after all. Killing is a choice.// "You'd a choice, though. Everyone does. You could always have just sat out and become an accountant or something…"
"No." It was a faint breath of an answer, sad and painful. "Any other path, and I would have been dead even sooner… Besides…"
//Dead sooner? People don't hunt accountants…// Duo shook another handful of wires. "Red, blue, brown, green, black, white… Besides what?"
"That's the set-off section—cut as close to the connections as you can. Apocalypse now… um… black, green, brown, blue, red, white…" A long pause followed, and Duo could feel Zechs debating ignoring the earlier question and answering it. Finally, the boy added softly, "It's a long story."
Straightening from the crate, Duo shook his braid back over his shoulder and glanced over at Quatre, who had been writing down the correct cutting order for the various sections of wiring so that multiple teams could work on various bombs at the same time. Zechs was looking at his sandals, clearly in no mood to explain that elusive thing driving his revenge.
//It hurts him. Pacifist family… What /would/ drive someone to do the opposite of what they've been taught is right? Or the opposite of what they believe in? What could be that big, that important? I don't understand.// Duo shook those nagging questions aside. //We've bigger problems right now, buddy. Get these bombs done with, then go kick some Alliance ass!//
"Well, one down. How many to go, Quatre?" the braided Gundam pilot asked, grinning broadly.
Quatre smiled gently, setting a clipboard down on the corner of the crate and scrawling even as he spoke. "Nine, actually. But once I make copies of the cutting orders, we can split up and disarm all of them quickly. Groups of four at least, I think, is best. Like you said earlier—someone on guard, just in case, someone to read the order, someone to take care of the lighting, and someone to be reaching around in there."
Glancing over at the fair-haired boy, Duo winked. //We'll finish in time, then.// "Hey, kiddo—want to work on the next together, too? We make a good team."
A silent nod was the only answer from the fair boy. Those ice-blue eyes wouldn't meet Duo's gaze.
Duo sighed. //All right, I won't press you further, kiddo. But it's hard not to ask when you try to hide so much. And it's hurting you—even I can see that keeping it in will kill you.// "Hey, I'll drop the annoying questions, okay? We've lots to do, anyway…"
Zechs nodded slowly, and smiled slightly. "It's all right… But what will we do for the Maganacs? After the bombs, I mean. They're headed into a trap."
Quatre shook his head, looking up from his copying and swiftly handing the instructions out to the villagers around them. "I had someone warn them. They know the Alliance is out there waiting for them—and Rashid's putting them in good positions to handle the lot. They won't get caught in a gauntlet. Auada's manning the communications and general radar, so we can monitor the fight, too. If need be, we'll get our Gundams, but… not unless there's no other choice."
Duo could see the ex-Oz pilot absorbing that information, figuring out the reasons for their actions… and those icy eyes lifted, determined and sharp. There was something… something Duo couldn't put a finger on in that gaze… Something sad, but driven.
//What are you thinking of, Zechs? I wish I could look inside that blonde head of yours. You're up to something…//
But before Duo could say anything, the boy nodded, ducking under long bangs again. "Well… guess we'd best get working on the next bomb…"
So Duo let it drop, though he felt a nagging suspicion…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
Quatre had been repeating the cutting instructions for Duo the last couple bombs, because Zechs had lapsed into silence, hanging back from them as well as the two villagers helping out with the lamps and flashlights. Something was bothering the boy, the blonde Gundam pilot could feel it. Fear was there, with determination, and a kind of acceptance… and sorrow. Always sorrow. Everything hurt so much, and it made Quatre feel melancholy just to be near the boy…
//I wish I could help him, somehow. All this business with the Alliance hurts him. But he won't talk, Duo proved that much. And talking is what he needs…//
"Okay, that's the last of this one," Duo sighed, straightening, hands going to his sore back. "The last we have to do, right? The others got the rest?"
A triumphant wave of relief washed through Quatre. //Thank Allah.// "Yes, it's the last. And…" He paused to look at his watch. "We've fifteen minutes left."
Duo let out a whistle, rubbing the back of his head and grinning broadly, yet wearily. "Thank God. My back's had enough. At least /this/ town's not going to end up as a mess of rubble."
//Yes… Thank Allah for that, too,// Quatre sighed quietly to himself, looking up at the stars. //They're good people. They don't deserve this.//
Together, they stood in silence, counting down… Then gunfire signaled midnight, a roar of flying bullets and energy weapons well over the rooftops as mobile suits began blasting away.
//Rashid and the Maganacs are hard at it,// the blonde Gundam pilot mused, watching the exchange cris-crossing above. //There's heavier fire coming from the Alliance troops… Are there more of them than we saw?// A thrill of worry tickled the young man's spine.
"There's a lot of firing from the west…" Duo murmured thoughtfully.
Quatre began towards the entrance for the underground base, pace quickening. "I just realized… They may have had a lot more reinforcements than we saw enter the village earlier. We'd better go see if Rashid and the rest can handle it…"
The gunfire above and thud of mobile suit feet only seemed to get heavier from the west, though, even as they hurried through the dark streets.
"We may be too late, Quatre! It looks like they can't hold! This is getting too damn close!" Duo hollered.
Whirling onto the pair of villagers who had been part of their team, Quatre quickly pointed them towards the Sheikh's home. "Tell him to get evacuating! This may get bad!"
Duo abruptly stopped in his tracks, and Quatre couldn't help bumping into his back at the sudden halt. Deathscythe's pilot had suddenly remembered something, and it nearly panicked him. Confused, breathless, Quatre stared at his fellow Gundam pilot with concern.
"What—what's—?" the blonde began.
"Zechs? Where is he?" Duo demanded, eyes scanning desperately.
//Zechs? But he was right… No, wait.// Quatre blinked, then felt a chill of dread. "I thought he was…"
Duo shook his head slowly, firmly.
"He wasn't helping on the last one, and when you looked up he wasn't… I didn't even realize…" Quatre breathed in horror, realizing that since they began working on the last bomb, he hadn't seen that fair hair gleaming in the moonlight beside them. //Oh damn… And he felt… Something's wrong, something bad—I /feel/ it!//
Duo's eyes were slowly widening, and flicked down in silent horror.
Then Quatre could feel it, too. A rumbling. Something stirring beneath them, shaking things with slowly increasing power. A growing earthquake.
"Shit… no!" Duo whispered, as if to someone far away. Then he whirled and ran desperately for the hangers.
//Oh no, oh no, please Allah…// Quatre begged, dread numbing his feet, though he struggled to keep Duo in sight.
Something roared, making the houses rattle.
"Not the Tallgeese! It'll kill you!" Duo screamed breathlessly, steps not faltering.
Then, with a final shudder, the earthquake stopped—and a streak of light tore into the sky above them.
"NOOO!" Duo wailed, halting in his tracks to stare up in horror at the gleaming white suit reaching for the sky, fists balled at his sides.
//Great Allah…!// Quatre could only stare, numb.
//He's going to suicide to help us!//
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued.
Just a thought. Zechs knows the enemy general—so he'd know the guy's tactics and what he's likely to do and how. So he'd guess there's back-up. And he's the kind to sacrifice himself for a good cause—like keeping the knowledge of two Gundams in the area from Oz/Romefeller.
By the way, thanks for the reviews, guys! Glad you're enjoying this! I know some of you don't care much for the predetermined pairing—but honestly, you won't see more than literally one kiss at the very end chapter, and I can make an alternative ending (which would make the tale pairingless) if people want. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until I get the other stories I have in mind into text form. ;) So far, they're just imagination.
Chapter Eleven: You've Forgotten All The Promises Of That First Friend …
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer—Owning nil has it's benefits… Nobody can take it away.
Warnings—Eventual 2x6, at least in theory, not that you'll see anything more than the vaguest of insinuations yet. Sarcasm. Panic. Minor swearing. Things /almost/ blow up. Make that lots of things almost blow up.
Party poopers arrive at the Maganacs' village and poop the party. Duo and Quatre get a quick course in Oz Explosives 101—How NOT To Blow Yourself Up! Zechs does something disobedient.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duo leaned his backwards chair closer to the windowsill, frowning, arms folded before him, as he watched the activity in the fading light outside. Quatre, standing, also kept curious vigil, but from farther back in the room, where his fair hair was less of a beacon. The room was dark—and Duo's really, which they had decided had the best vantage point.
//I don't trust those guys as far as I could kick their trucks…// Duo mused grimly, watching the machines rumbling in single file up the main dirt street towards the celebrating people. He could still hear the celebration continuing…
//By now the Sheikh knows as well, and the Maganacs must be almost all in position…//
"There's a lot of them," Quatre murmured from behind the braided pilot.
//That's likely to change,// Duo growled mentally, eyes narrowing sharply as the line trailed to a halt. "I promised nothing… If it looks ugly, I'm helping out."
Quatre shifted uneasily behind him. "Duo… please, not unless there seems to be no other choice. I'd… like to try and accede to Rashid's wishes. He's right, you know—if either of us join in, and they get word out about a Gundam here…"
He didn't have to finish. Duo made a face. //Yeah, they'd hit us with everything they could dig up. It's one thing to hit /them/ off-guard, but if they can hit /us/ before we're ready, we're dead and dead /fast/!// "I know," he accepted with a sigh. "But better word gets out about us and your pals end up mad with me than your pals ending up dead."
Quatre had no answer for that, nor did Duo expect one. They just watched the soldiers below…
They could distantly hear that the celebration had died into silence in the center of the village. Then someone's voice carried, addressing the crowd loudly, though Duo couldn't distinguish the words from this distance, only a rising and falling tone.
//It doesn't matter, though. They're either staying, or not. And if they're up to anything, they're hardly going to tell us straight out.//
Under Duo and Quatre's unnoticed eyes, however, one truck stirred, and disgorged its inhabitants silently. Dark figures scurried through the shadowy streets below, forcing Duo to squint to make them out and figure out what they were up to.
//Something in the back…? They're taking out some kind of crate… Takes four of them at least! I wonder what's in it… They're hardly a group to deliver weapons to us. But with all the townsfolk up there, listening to their leader, nobody's going to notice these things!//
He felt a sudden urge to stick his head out the window and see if trucks farther back down the line were doing the same—dropping off packages—but he knew better. The light was fading, but not gone yet! And if they were performing these activities here, now, where the locals couldn't see, that meant two things…
//One—they don't want anyone to watch. And two—any witnesses are sure to be silenced permanently! A Gundam pilot is of no use to the colonies dead, though—so keep your head in Maxwell!//
"What could be in those boxes?" Quatre breathed softly, curiosity itching in his voice.
//Just about anything from propaganda to cumbersome supplies they might want to drop, to useless equipment, to weapons and bombs. Yep, just about anything!// "I think we should go see when we get the chance…"
"I agree."
The box was neatly tucked against a shadowy wall by a closed shop, pretending it belonged there, politely out of the way of road traffic. Duo eyed it sharply, scratching at the back of his head, feeling a chill tease his spine as the bearers snuck back into their vehicle.
//I don't like this. I don't like it at all.//
"It's a danger. Something about those boxes is dangerous," Quatre's voice carried faintly to his ears.
//I can agree with that.//
The trucks started up again, then the line began moving on…
"They're leaving?" Duo wondered out loud, a bit puzzled. //Does this mean they're going to try ambushing if any of us "rebels" leave the village? Or are they going for good? Or… What /could/ be in these boxes? Something to flush us out into a barrage of gunfire?//
"Seems so," Quatre confirmed as the last truck rumbled by. He dared step closer to the window, frowning a bit in puzzlement, his gaze stuck to the unknown crate barely visible across the street.
For a moment, both Gundam pilots glared at the unwanted "gift" suspiciously.
"Well, better go check it out, then." Duo gripped the edge of the windowsill with both hands—and vaulted over, landing neatly on his feet in the street.
Deathscythe's pilot made it to the crate in a couple strides, and studied it with hands on hips a moment. Then he heard Quatre's feet hit the ground with a soft thud behind him, felt the other pilot follow him to inspect the crate from behind his shoulder.
//Where to start, where to start… Which end is up? Rude of them not to mark it…// "We'll need some tools, I think. A crowbar to start. But I'm /always/ prepared for this."
With a broad grin, Duo reached to the back of his belt—and pulled a lengthy piece of heavy, hook-ended black metal from his belt and showed it to Quatre proudly. //Never leave home without it! Can't mention the millions of times it helped me out. /Never/ attempt to assault a mechanic—that's /asking/ for pain.//
Quatre looked from crowbar to owner and back as if uncertain he should ask. From his expression, the Arabian young man decided against it.
Duo couldn't help a chuckle at his fellow's expression, though. Quatre was giving him a look that better suited someone taking their eccentric choice in pets for a walk on a leash—say, a skunk or deadly viper.
//Well, now to see what we've found…//
With the ease of a professional salvage expert, Duo rammed the flat end under the lid of the crate and straightened, slamming down on the blunt side of the hook.
With a soft creak, the lid came up.
//Oh shit.//
"A bomb," Quatre breathed softly, hands resting on the side of the crate—and tightening angrily. "How… How /dare/ they? There are innocent people here—families, children…!"
Duo shoved the lid back against the wall, so the crate would stay open, and eyed the interlaced wires before them. //Damn and damn and damn! I don't know /this/ kind of set-up! /Heero/ might, but he's not here… It looks like… yes, there's a timer there, and a remote-control receptor there, but the rest is as tangled as a bowl of spaghetti! And that piece… Oh, royal shit…//
"They can detonate by remote, too, it looks like… not just a timer… and they've got it set to go off if moved, with that Global Positioning Device hookup right there… And… It's set for midnight!"
"We have to tell the Sheikh—and Rashid—and get everyone out of here," suggested Quatre. "Unless… well, you said you were a mechanic on that salvage ship, Duo. Do you think you can disarm this?"
Duo leaned into the box, tracing a few wires with his fingers, a thrill of adrenaline charging his blood… //Maybe, if I'd time… If I'd some experience with this kind of spaghetti… How do they color-code their explosives? I know how the /rebels/ color-code… But we don't have time, and if I cut the wrong thing, it might set /all/ of them off prematurely!//
Studying the mess in his hands, and thinking of the possible consequences, the black-clad Gundam pilot paused a long moment… then straightened, shaking his head. "I don't know this kind of set-up well enough to chance it. With time, maybe, and a good look at an old dud, maybe… but we don't have either. This kind of thing wasn't really my forte, you know."
Hope died in Quatre's eyes, and both looked back into the crate with a mixture of anger and determination.
"Heero probably would know," Duo sighed softly. //He's /never/ around when you need him!//
Quatre tightened a glare at the tangle of wires and explosives. "Why…? Why would they kill innocent people like this?"
"They never really /do/ change, I suppose," came a soft reply behind them, sounding disgusted.
//Zechs!// Duo whirled to stare at the pale form, ghostlike in the darkening street behind them. "They do this kind of thing often, then…," he answered, unable to hold a growl from his voice, though it wasn't directed at the boy.
Gleaming white-blonde hair dipped in a nod, as Zechs stepped closer to peer over the edge of the crate at its contents. "It's why I helped Treize's coup de tat." Long hair trailed over the edge of the crate to brush the wiring as the owner frowned studiously at the tangle.
"Your revenge…," Quatre acknowledged, understanding. His voice hardened as he added, "I can understand, I think…"
//Yes, that's why he joined, he said—to help destroy the Alliance and undo some of their actions… Wait a minute, how do you undo their actions? You can't bring lives back—so what /can/ you do?// Duo scratched the back of his head, bemused. //Though I can sympathize, too… They killed my "family," after all—the only kind I've ever really known...//
Icy blue eyes flicked to Quatre, gleaming like a cat's in the moonlight. And in them was a sorrow that Duo recognized, a rage he knew and still felt himself, a pain he too still had yet to come to terms with. Only amplified. Not just loss fueled Zechs's feelings. Something else contributed, but what, Duo couldn't pinpoint… because it wasn't something he'd experienced personally before.
"You /can't/ understand," Zechs whispered at Quatre quietly, those eyes shifting back to the bomb. He half-buried himself in the crate, lightly- bandaged hands fingering a few wires Duo had traced a short while before.
//Um… I just did that, kiddo. It doesn't help. The wires don't sort themselves out for you when you stroke them.// But Duo understood what Zechs meant. Quatre still had his family, a home to go back to later, loved ones likely worried about him right now. //So that explains the nightmares. He survived an Alliance attack that killed his family… and simply went about his revenge on a different path from my way. I never considered attacking from /inside/, though they'd least expect it…//
Pale hair was mingling with wiring in the vanishing light, though the former stood out like a glimmer of hope even in the shadows. Quatre simply watched, seeming thoughtful. Duo blinked slowly at Zechs as the boy continued delving into what was starting to seem like an expert examination, uncertain if the boy might find something he hadn't… and trying not to listen to the whisper of hope at the back of his mind saying that the boy /could/ and that's why it was taking longer.
"As I said, they never change… and for once, that's good," the youth's voice carried from the mass of shadowed wiring and curtain of pale hair.
//What?//
"What do you mean?" Quatre piped up.
//I want to know, too… Did I miss something?// Duo leaned over the side, squinting to see what Zechs was up to. Hard to see with all that hair and low light, and even Zechs had to shove gossamer strands out of his way occasionally.
"They shove every cadet through some basic explosives training… With all the terrorist attacks on Oz and alliance bases, though, that's to be expected. But they teach how /their/ bombs are set up—which is good if the enemy borrows your stuff, but /not/ good if they make their own…" There was a grunt, and the boy squirmed, trying to reach farther…
A pause. Then the sound of someone spitting their own hair from their mouth. Then more squirming.
"If I could just…! Ah, yes. He /would/ put such in here…"
Duo exchanged looks with Quatre. //He /knows/ the bunch that was just here? Or the bomb's maker? Well… I guess either one would make sense, as he was part of Oz, but… Well, I hope he can do something!// "Can you disarm it?" Deathscythe's pilot asked sharply.
"Give me… Ungh… One minute…" Zechs hooked a knee on the edge and dug deeper. "Fools…! That shouldn't be upside-down…"
Quatre shifted his weight a bit restlessly. "There might be others—and we only have until midnight. We need to know, Zechs," he insisted urgently.
"It'd be easier if I had light, some twist-ties, a hairband, and while you're at it, my lost three-plus feet back," came the sarcastic rejoinder from the boy almost falling into the crate. "But… yes, I think I can show you how… in enough time… not to need to evacuate…"
//Hey, that's good! But we'd better be careful…// Duo flashed Quatre a grin as the blonde Gundam pilot breathed a sigh of relief. "You go tell the townsfolk, Quatre, and get some tools. But I say we stick together in groups—no knowing if they dropped /people/ off as well!"
Zechs's head popped up at that, and he wiped long bangs and sweat from his eyes. "Commander Girald wouldn't consider it," he stated confidently. "I /know/ this tactic…" Those eyes stared into some distant, invisible horror behind the Gundam pilots for a long moment… "I know it well…"
//His… His family, maybe? They were killed somehow like this?// Duo wondered. He couldn't see a connection, though. As far as he knew, the Alliance never got credit for delivering bombs like this before… //Though that doesn't mean they never /did/ that!//
Zechs blinked, then shook his head, coming out of his memories and offering a quick explanation. "It's to flush your Maganac Corps friends out into a killing gauntlet," he said, waving a hand at the village around them—nearly falling into the crate as a result.
Duo grabbed his belt, smirking as he saved the youth from slapping face- first into the tangled—and potentially deadly—contents of the crate. //Silly kid. Got to have someone look out for you or you'll hurt your pretty little face!// "We kind of guessed that much."
Quatre glanced towards the desert, not smiling. "Using innocents…? Or are they just 'caught in the crossfire'?"
As Duo helped Zechs return to his feet on solid ground, he watched the boy slump his shoulders at Quatre's words.
But Zechs's next words chilled them all to the bone.
"No… it's intentional." The words were bitter, carrying an icy echo of helpless anger. "Justified slaughter of accomplices and supporters… They don't care." Jaws gritted with the faint snap of teeth meeting firmly, and the pale boy growled, "Their rule is this: there /are/ no innocents in war."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zechs glared at the crate as he and Duo waited for Quatre to bring tools, light, and others to help find and disarm the rest of the bombs likely delivered that evening. Memories swirled at the edge of his thoughts, resisting attempts to drive them away, rather like painful gnats picking at his consciousness. They wouldn't leave him alone.
//**Flames roaring in the palace, thick smoke choking and smothering and blinding, making his eyes run and his lungs ache… People running to escape, for the safety of outside, screaming as shots filled the air—almost all kin of his, people he knew, choosing the swifter death of gunfire from the waiting firing squad outside to that of burning alive… And he stood still inside, unable to choose… Because he had to live… /Someone/ had to! And to do that, he had to find a way to get out… Alive… Somehow…**//
Duo was silent, a darker shadow in the darkness—Zechs's eyes couldn't pick him out anymore, but he could feel the Gundam pilot waiting, watching patiently, an air of quiet determination radiating from him.
Miri just closed his eyes, leaned his back against the side of the crate, and let the memories come.
//**Down—that had to be the way to go. Somewhere, on the ground floor, there had to be a way… Getting there was easy, but the blood on the walls, the torn and flaming hangings, the still bodies he nearly fell over on the floor, they were like bullets riddling his soul… Like the servants, like many of his relatives, he had heard the gunfire of assassination below and run down to aid those downstairs, only to be chased back up by further shots—and now were trapped in an inferno intentionally set to finish them off… He hadn't imagined the sights he would see, the faces of those massacred, his parents among them… but they drove him all the harder to endure, to survive, to escape! And then—a lucky break—a glimpse of movement—and he dove after it in silence, keeping low under the worst of the smoke… Abruptly he fell into clear air, tripping over the threshold of the garden doors—and luckily so, for the plundering soldier he had followed turned to glance back and ended up looking well over his head… Taking a single deep breath, he had taken one more stumbling step to get out of the building and duck into the bushes either side of the doors, ignoring flaming chunks of roofing trickling down onto his hair like sparkling remnants of fireworks, desperately smothering his gasping breaths into a singed and ragged sleeve so he wouldn't be heard… So he wouldn't be shot.**//
Duo shifted, sitting on the dirt with his back to the crate—Zechs could hear and feel the movement, but not see it. Night was here, and had taken control. It seemed to echo the despair he felt back then…
//**Glass exploded from the picture windows above, sharp shards raining down on his head like confetti. He didn't feel pieces cutting through cloth and into skin, the bushes not protecting him much from the sharp hail. He /did/ see a large jagged chunk, the size of a dagger of old, slap into the dirt right by his hand like a mocking gift from heaven. And something made him pick it up, wince as the sharp sides cut his fingers. Holding it, he had to smother a half-gasping laugh of despair, of hopelessness, of self-derision—what could such a puny thing do? What could /he/ do? A fragile piece of glass, against an army with guns? Nothing… It was all futile. The world was ending, and he could do nothing for those who depended on him, now that his parents were dead.**//
Distantly, absently, he could hear footsteps running through the streets, soft calls, as the villagers hunted out the other crate-bombs.
//**Footsteps dashed out of the building next to him, passing him at a desperate run, a hunched figure coughing and wheezing, clutching something—someone?—precious close to his chest, running blindly past the soldier who Miri had followed out, oblivious to the danger. The soldier yelled, lifting his gun to fire, and the escaping man glanced back, freezing… Pagan—his dark hair and moustache unmistakable, eyes wide with a bleak, almost desperate determination—a squirming young girl wrapped in a blanket clutched close protectively… Relena. The man had managed to find and grab Relena. Relena—who Miri had hunted for in the flames and smoke until it drove him down from the upper levels of the palace for at least /slightly/ clearer air, heart-broken and guessing she was already dead… Pagan had saved a hope that Miri had given up on… **//
//**Miri had no choice—some higher power drove him to act, and forever changed him then and there.**//
The boy's pale head lifted towards the stars, his pained gaze staring beyond their twinkling lights.
//**The soldier never knew what hit him. Miri didn't make a sound—who would have breath to after all that smoke?—as he ran up behind the man and jumped as high as he could, at the man's shoulders, the chunk of jagged glass flashing down between both his hands and driven by momentum and all the child's weight… It sank in like a hot knife into butter, diving between ribs, into lungs, as the soldier staggered beneath the impact, went down… Then Miri was kneeling on the man's back, staring at what he'd done, at his slashed hands, his blood mingling with that of the soldier… The soldier coughed once, then lay still… so still beneath him. Dead.**//
//I killed him…//
People walked up, carrying a light… Distantly, Zechs felt like he had an audience of ghosts watching those memories with him, for those who arrived must have seen his blank, staring gaze and kindly decided to wait…
//**He had looked up, horrified at himself, numbed to the core, to catch Pagan's gentle, sad gaze, to see the man reach a hand towards him as if to save him, to see the man's lips move, shaping his name… Miri hadn't heard it. The roaring fire and guns and screams of people dying at the other ends of the palace seemed to drown everything… and take Miri's soul with them. He had stared at that proffered hand—and known right then that he couldn't accept it, that what had just happened was irreparable, a step down a road he could never return.** Look at what I've done… What have I become? My God… My God… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm SORRY! **So much blood. So much death. And he had leapt to his feet and fled blindly out into the night leaving Pagan and Relena behind, knowing he could never return, that he was and forever will be no longer a Peacecraft… That he couldn't afford to be. It hurt, it burned with shame, it ached because it broke all the loving ties he had ever known. Another person—maybe Relena?—would have to be a Peacecraft—because someone else was needed right now, someone who had to do things a Peacecraft couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't… And he would fit that role perfectly, even if he didn't want to admit it right then…**//
Zechs shook his head slowly, almost sadly, closing his eyes and opening them slowly again, pulling free of the memories—which, now that they had a chance to give their say, seemed more willing to leave him be.
//Like a fairy-tale… A changeling neither fey nor man, apart from both worlds.// Turning his gaze, he flashed a sad smile at Duo, Quatre, and the assembled makeshift disarmament crew that flickered in the light of over a dozen torches and lamps and flashlights. //I won't let them repeat the past.// "All right, I'm ready."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duo ended up the one half-buried in the crate. Mainly because while Zechs had the knowledge, he did NOT have long enough arms to reach the right places for clipping wires, at least not without climbing into the awful mess and possibly setting something off.
//Well, call it a crash-course in Oz Bomb Design 537. It /has/ to be graduate-level. Only they would make things this complicated—and I bet it's on purpose, too!// Snagging a section of wire that apparently made up the remote set-off's connection, he wiggled it for Zechs to identify. "Okay, where do I start here?"
He could hear the boy levering higher on the side of the crate to peer at the tangled mass. "What part is it? I can't tell what kind of box it is from here."
"Remote device's pick-up. Let's see…" Duo reached out to shift a flashlight precariously balanced on the timer for a better view. "I've red, blue, light blue, green, and grey here…"
A finger tapped the wood in slow rhythm for a moment beyond his sight. Zechs was thinking…
//Well, at least we cut off the timer. Though if they try the remote set- off the moment they realize it didn't explode, that doesn't help us any…//
"Treize's rose in a blue vase," came a thoughtful murmur.
//Uh… I /really/ hope he didn't chose this moment to lose it.// "Hmm?"
"Dark blue, then red, green, light blue, grey." Zechs's voice was louder this time. "Sorry—I have interesting ways of memorizing things."
//Hey, if it works…// Wire clippers made faint snapping sounds as Duo carefully snapped the colored lengths in the correct order. "Well, it seems to have worked so far… How about this next bunch? White, cream, red, blue, orange…"
"All Oz boys get blasted?" came a half-giggle, half-chuckle. "Blue, red, cream, orange, white."
Duo laughed softly, shaking his head and pausing to throw his braid back out of his way before snipping in the correct order. "How'd you come up with these things?"
"I never said I /wanted/ to be a soldier… My whole family was against war—they'd disown me for what I am now… if they still lived." The answer was quiet, almost bitter. "Circumstances drove me onto this path, though..."
Snorting, Duo, finished clipping the last of those wires. //It's easy to get lost in society—Fate doesn't hold a knife to your throat, after all. Killing is a choice.// "You'd a choice, though. Everyone does. You could always have just sat out and become an accountant or something…"
"No." It was a faint breath of an answer, sad and painful. "Any other path, and I would have been dead even sooner… Besides…"
//Dead sooner? People don't hunt accountants…// Duo shook another handful of wires. "Red, blue, brown, green, black, white… Besides what?"
"That's the set-off section—cut as close to the connections as you can. Apocalypse now… um… black, green, brown, blue, red, white…" A long pause followed, and Duo could feel Zechs debating ignoring the earlier question and answering it. Finally, the boy added softly, "It's a long story."
Straightening from the crate, Duo shook his braid back over his shoulder and glanced over at Quatre, who had been writing down the correct cutting order for the various sections of wiring so that multiple teams could work on various bombs at the same time. Zechs was looking at his sandals, clearly in no mood to explain that elusive thing driving his revenge.
//It hurts him. Pacifist family… What /would/ drive someone to do the opposite of what they've been taught is right? Or the opposite of what they believe in? What could be that big, that important? I don't understand.// Duo shook those nagging questions aside. //We've bigger problems right now, buddy. Get these bombs done with, then go kick some Alliance ass!//
"Well, one down. How many to go, Quatre?" the braided Gundam pilot asked, grinning broadly.
Quatre smiled gently, setting a clipboard down on the corner of the crate and scrawling even as he spoke. "Nine, actually. But once I make copies of the cutting orders, we can split up and disarm all of them quickly. Groups of four at least, I think, is best. Like you said earlier—someone on guard, just in case, someone to read the order, someone to take care of the lighting, and someone to be reaching around in there."
Glancing over at the fair-haired boy, Duo winked. //We'll finish in time, then.// "Hey, kiddo—want to work on the next together, too? We make a good team."
A silent nod was the only answer from the fair boy. Those ice-blue eyes wouldn't meet Duo's gaze.
Duo sighed. //All right, I won't press you further, kiddo. But it's hard not to ask when you try to hide so much. And it's hurting you—even I can see that keeping it in will kill you.// "Hey, I'll drop the annoying questions, okay? We've lots to do, anyway…"
Zechs nodded slowly, and smiled slightly. "It's all right… But what will we do for the Maganacs? After the bombs, I mean. They're headed into a trap."
Quatre shook his head, looking up from his copying and swiftly handing the instructions out to the villagers around them. "I had someone warn them. They know the Alliance is out there waiting for them—and Rashid's putting them in good positions to handle the lot. They won't get caught in a gauntlet. Auada's manning the communications and general radar, so we can monitor the fight, too. If need be, we'll get our Gundams, but… not unless there's no other choice."
Duo could see the ex-Oz pilot absorbing that information, figuring out the reasons for their actions… and those icy eyes lifted, determined and sharp. There was something… something Duo couldn't put a finger on in that gaze… Something sad, but driven.
//What are you thinking of, Zechs? I wish I could look inside that blonde head of yours. You're up to something…//
But before Duo could say anything, the boy nodded, ducking under long bangs again. "Well… guess we'd best get working on the next bomb…"
So Duo let it drop, though he felt a nagging suspicion…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
Quatre had been repeating the cutting instructions for Duo the last couple bombs, because Zechs had lapsed into silence, hanging back from them as well as the two villagers helping out with the lamps and flashlights. Something was bothering the boy, the blonde Gundam pilot could feel it. Fear was there, with determination, and a kind of acceptance… and sorrow. Always sorrow. Everything hurt so much, and it made Quatre feel melancholy just to be near the boy…
//I wish I could help him, somehow. All this business with the Alliance hurts him. But he won't talk, Duo proved that much. And talking is what he needs…//
"Okay, that's the last of this one," Duo sighed, straightening, hands going to his sore back. "The last we have to do, right? The others got the rest?"
A triumphant wave of relief washed through Quatre. //Thank Allah.// "Yes, it's the last. And…" He paused to look at his watch. "We've fifteen minutes left."
Duo let out a whistle, rubbing the back of his head and grinning broadly, yet wearily. "Thank God. My back's had enough. At least /this/ town's not going to end up as a mess of rubble."
//Yes… Thank Allah for that, too,// Quatre sighed quietly to himself, looking up at the stars. //They're good people. They don't deserve this.//
Together, they stood in silence, counting down… Then gunfire signaled midnight, a roar of flying bullets and energy weapons well over the rooftops as mobile suits began blasting away.
//Rashid and the Maganacs are hard at it,// the blonde Gundam pilot mused, watching the exchange cris-crossing above. //There's heavier fire coming from the Alliance troops… Are there more of them than we saw?// A thrill of worry tickled the young man's spine.
"There's a lot of firing from the west…" Duo murmured thoughtfully.
Quatre began towards the entrance for the underground base, pace quickening. "I just realized… They may have had a lot more reinforcements than we saw enter the village earlier. We'd better go see if Rashid and the rest can handle it…"
The gunfire above and thud of mobile suit feet only seemed to get heavier from the west, though, even as they hurried through the dark streets.
"We may be too late, Quatre! It looks like they can't hold! This is getting too damn close!" Duo hollered.
Whirling onto the pair of villagers who had been part of their team, Quatre quickly pointed them towards the Sheikh's home. "Tell him to get evacuating! This may get bad!"
Duo abruptly stopped in his tracks, and Quatre couldn't help bumping into his back at the sudden halt. Deathscythe's pilot had suddenly remembered something, and it nearly panicked him. Confused, breathless, Quatre stared at his fellow Gundam pilot with concern.
"What—what's—?" the blonde began.
"Zechs? Where is he?" Duo demanded, eyes scanning desperately.
//Zechs? But he was right… No, wait.// Quatre blinked, then felt a chill of dread. "I thought he was…"
Duo shook his head slowly, firmly.
"He wasn't helping on the last one, and when you looked up he wasn't… I didn't even realize…" Quatre breathed in horror, realizing that since they began working on the last bomb, he hadn't seen that fair hair gleaming in the moonlight beside them. //Oh damn… And he felt… Something's wrong, something bad—I /feel/ it!//
Duo's eyes were slowly widening, and flicked down in silent horror.
Then Quatre could feel it, too. A rumbling. Something stirring beneath them, shaking things with slowly increasing power. A growing earthquake.
"Shit… no!" Duo whispered, as if to someone far away. Then he whirled and ran desperately for the hangers.
//Oh no, oh no, please Allah…// Quatre begged, dread numbing his feet, though he struggled to keep Duo in sight.
Something roared, making the houses rattle.
"Not the Tallgeese! It'll kill you!" Duo screamed breathlessly, steps not faltering.
Then, with a final shudder, the earthquake stopped—and a streak of light tore into the sky above them.
"NOOO!" Duo wailed, halting in his tracks to stare up in horror at the gleaming white suit reaching for the sky, fists balled at his sides.
//Great Allah…!// Quatre could only stare, numb.
//He's going to suicide to help us!//
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued.
Just a thought. Zechs knows the enemy general—so he'd know the guy's tactics and what he's likely to do and how. So he'd guess there's back-up. And he's the kind to sacrifice himself for a good cause—like keeping the knowledge of two Gundams in the area from Oz/Romefeller.
By the way, thanks for the reviews, guys! Glad you're enjoying this! I know some of you don't care much for the predetermined pairing—but honestly, you won't see more than literally one kiss at the very end chapter, and I can make an alternative ending (which would make the tale pairingless) if people want. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until I get the other stories I have in mind into text form. ;) So far, they're just imagination.