Lost Memories: Part Three
By: Dibs

I don't own Gundam Wing! Never have, never will. Unless, of course, I suddenly become insanely rich. Then I just might buy the G-boys from their owners. And Treize and Zechs.

Anyway, thoughts are still like this: //blah,// he thought. So, enjoy your reading!

Okay, nothing really happens in this part, just Quatre and Heero talking. I don't think there's even a cuss word, so it's probably PG for what they're talking about. But I've never been good with ratings, so just read.

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When the braided boy opened his eyes again, dusk had settled over the neighborhood. He could see streetlamps starting to flicker on and knew he wouldn't get a much better time. Carefully watching the houses around him, he walked back the way he had come that afternoon.

The house of the blonde boy was pale blue with white trim, with a dying yard and a large maple tree. A tall plain wooden fence could be seen on either side, padlocks keeping the gates closed. The braided boy crept along as quietly as possible, managing to scramble over the fence. There was a large balcony deck on the back of the house and stairs with peeling blue paint led up to it. Instinctively crouching low, the boy almost crawled up the stairs. It was dark inside. There was a large, empty area on the other side of the glass door, and it was dark. Where was the blonde boy?

The braided boy tested the glass door, and it slid open with almost no noise. Clinging to the shadows, he slunk along the walls into a large, bare kitchen, where a refrigerator was humming softly. There was an empty doorway at the end of the kitchen, and he peered through it. To the right was what looked like a living room, with a small white couch, a fireplace, and two end tables. Other than that, though, it hardly looked like anyone lived here. To the left was a dark hallway.

The boy slid around the frame, hugging the wall as close as possible. The house creaked slightly under his feet and he froze, forcing himself to slowly count out two minutes, holding his breath. The house was silent. Satisfied that he hadn't been heard, he continued creeping down the hall. He passed a small, empty bathroom. There weren't any personal touches, nothing but a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some toilet paper. He shook his head. What kind of person lived with almost nothing? There were no pictures, no bookshelves, nothing but the barest essentials, if even that. He shrugged and hoped that he hadn't lived here; sure that he would have at least added a homey touch or two.

At the end of the hallway were two more doors. The one on the right was wide open and dark, while the one on the left was slightly ajar and had soft light pouring from it. He could hear voices now, a low murmur. He dropped into a crouch and peered through the door. A large dresser that would probably hit him at his waist was against the wall he faced, and a large mirror attached to it took up the space between it and the ceiling. Reflected in the mirror he could see the blond boy's back over the expanse of a large bed. It was neatly made with light blue sheets. There was a desk situated against the far wall where he was sitting. He shifted in his seat, and the braided boy could see what he was talking to. There was a good-sized screen on the desk in front of him, with a small camera attached to the top. On the screen was the face of another boy. He had unruly chocolate hair and Prussian blue eyes and golden skin. The braided boy stared at the reflection of the screen, instinctively drawing deeper into the shadows and wondering if the dark-haired boy could see out of the screen. He was, well, beautiful, but it was the kind of beauty that would suit a portrait. He didn't seem the type to laugh, or even smile. The braided boy shivered. Those eyes seemed to burn with blue fire, and he knew he never wanted to be on the receiving end of the glare they were now directing at the blond boy.

"What do you mean he's gone?" asked the dark-haired boy. His voice was deep and pleasant, if a bit nasal sounding. The blonde boy sighed.

"Just what I said, Heero," he said, "He woke up, told me he didn't know who the hell I was, or who he was, slammed me into a wall, damn near knocked me unconscious, and ran like hell out the door. I lost sight of him after about a block."

The braided boy listened carefully. They were talking about him? Heero. He grinned to himself. Who named their kid something like that? Was he supposed to be Superman or something? He shook his head as he realized the dark-haired boy- Heero -was talking.

"Quatre, he's a liability now," said Heero.

//Quatre?// thought the braided boy. These people sure had some inventive parents.

"If he really does have amnesia, someone could find him and use him," said Heero, "They could get vital information out of him."

"How could they get vital information if he doesn't remember it?" asked Quatre, rubbing a hand across his face.

"It could surface somehow," said Heero, "There are also a number of developed chemicals sold on the black market that force an individual to respond truthfully to any question asked. Of course, their mind is useless afterwards. The chemicals destroy the tissues that hold the information. Anyone who's had those injections is just a drooling idiot afterwards."

The braided boy shivered at the tone in Heero's voice. Why had he woken up here? Where was he supposed to be? What did these people, these colorless, emotionless people, have to do with him? Heero's tone was so...matter-of-fact, as if he didn't give a damn one way or the other.

"We have to find Duo," said Quatre, who looked too tired to be bothered by the knowledge of these chemicals.

"We will replace him," said Heero, "He is a liability. We'll find him and bring him back. If he won't come quietly, we'll kill him." Quatre stared at the screen, his eyes heavy-lidded. He sighed again.

The braided boy was staring in shock at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. Heero's face was still as stone, his eyes like chips of blue ice. Jesus Christ. Who the hell were these people?! For the second time that day he felt the need to run away from this house. He turned and practically scuttled down the hall into the darkness. He cursed as the house creaked again. It was louder this time, and he heard Quatre's voice say, "What was that?" Heero's voice was a low murmur, and the braided boy couldn't make out the words.

He heard Quatre's chair creak as the blonde boy got up and cursed again. He managed to dart into the kitchen, sliding on his back on the slick linoleum. He watched light blossom in the hall as the bedroom door was opened.

//Hide or run?// the braided boy thought desperately. He opened a cupboard on the floor of the kitchen. It was empty. And huge. Throwing a quick glance behind him, he crawled inside, folding his thin frame into a ball. The door thumped shut and he listened carefully, trying to hear something over the beating of his heart. He tried to slow down his breathing. These people weren't normal. He had no idea what they were capable of. He pillowed his arms on his knees, settling his forehead against them. He closed his eyes, listening with all his might.

Quatre stood in the doorway to the kitchen, listening carefully. Whatever it was, it was gone. It was probably just the house settling. He turned back into the hall, casting one last glance into the kitchen over his shoulder.

"What was it?" asked Heero as Quatre sat back down. The blonde shook his head.

"Nothing," he said, "There was nothing out there." Heero frowned but remained silent.

"We're going to find him, Quatre," he said. Anyone else, and Quatre could have sworn Heero was trying to be comforting. But he had said it, minutes ago, that if Duo resisted, if he couldn't be healed, they were going to kill him.

"I told the police he was my cousin, and that he had run away," said Quatre, "I told them he was dropout, a druggie, that he didn't have any other family. I told them he was supposed to be staying with my father and I, but he was an idiot and refused our hospitality. They told me most runaways usually turn up within a week, but I'm not confident. Even if he isn't in his right mind, Duo's got good instincts, and I think he'll follow them, even if he doesn't understand them." A small half-smile was forming on his lips.

"And just what might those instincts be, Quatre?" Heero asked. The half-smile vanished.

"To run," said the blonde boy with a sigh, "He's gonna run as far and as fast as he can, until we either find him or he remembers his friends."

"Find him, Quatre," said Heero, "Call me only if you find something. Until then, do not tie up the line. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," said Quatre, but the other boy had already hung up. He frowned at the now blank screen, then sighed again and folded his arms across the desk, pillowing his head on them. Just as he started to fall into a restless doze, he thought, //Oh, Duo, where are you?//

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I am working on part four, but I've been getting ready for school, and this story has now stopped inside my head, so I don't know how long it'll be till I update. Be patient, please!