Lost Memories: Part Four

By: Dibs



Yeah! Part four! I'm so proud of myself! So, as usual, I still don't own Gundam Wing, but you know how it works, right? The minute I forget to say some idiot will come along and sue my butt off. So, I'll just keep saying it...Sigh...

Thoughts are still like this: //Blah,// he thought. I still can't figure out how to do italics! Grrr... I just got tired of messing with it, and decided to just let it go.

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The house had been silent for at least two minutes, and the braided boy carefully crawled out of the cupboard. His eyes roamed over the empty kitchen. The light had once again dimmed in the hall, and he sat for a minute, debating on going back to the bedroom or just getting the hell out of this house. In the end, curiosity won out and he was once again slinking down the hall. He peered through the door, and this time the bedroom was silent, small snores coming from the blonde boy as he slept, head down on his arms.

The braided boy crawled through the door, watching Quatre's shoulders rise slightly with every breath and fall back down. Keeping close to the bed, he pulled out one of the bottom drawers on the chest. It was empty. He tried the next one over. It was empty, too. He tried the next one.

Out of twenty or so drawers, only the top five were being used. One held a few T-shirts, some pinkish button-up shirts, and one green turtleneck. He frowned at it. Why did that one shirt look so familiar? He shook his head. Another drawer held a few khaki pants and some jeans. He pulled out a pair at random, pulling them on over his boxers. They were a little tight, and just a tad too short, but they would do. He went back to the shirt drawer and pulled out a white T-shirt. It seemed the largest shirt the blonde owned. A large black hoody with a front pocket caught his eye. He grabbed it and tied the arms around his waist.

He found socks in another drawer and a pair of tennis shoes in the corner. He rummaged around in the sock drawer again, frowning when his hands encountered something...feathery. He wrapped his fingers around the item and pulled out a pair of handcuffs covered in hot-pink feathers. He stared at them, wondering what the hell anyone would use fluffy pink handcuffs for. He shook his head, deciding that this wasn't helping. He put the handcuffs back and crept slowly from the room.

No sooner had the braided boy shut the sliding glass door than he realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since he woke up and who knew how long before that. He crept down the stairs and out of the yard. Standing out in the middle of the street, he turned a full circle. There was an orangey glow to the North, and he set off for what he hoped was a town.

"A restaurant, a gas station, anything," the boy muttered. He'd been walking for an hour, and still all he passed were houses that looked strikingly similar to the blonde boy's. The sky above him had turned a dark, dusky purple. A few stars were able to shine feebly, but most were lost to the orange glow still shining in the North. He shook his head and trudged onward.

Twenty minutes later, he became aware of the smell of gasoline. He turned the corner and was faced with the insanely bright glow of an all-night gas station. He untied the hoody from around his waist and pulled it on over his head, fixing his braid beneath the heavy cloth. It was still too hot for a sweatshirt, but the place was pretty busy, and hopefully nobody would notice a skinny kid in a sweatshirt.

The door "binged" shrilly and he winced, but nobody even turned around to see the new arrival. He walked carefully to the soda aisle, pulling out a liter Coke from the large refrigerator. When he was behind the candy aisle, he shoved the Coke under his shirt, jumping at the coldness. He'd already grown accustomed to the cool air-conditioning. He grabbed a few candy bars and shoved them into the front pocket, then carefully slipped a bag of beef jerky under his shirt along with the Coke. He shoved his hands into the pocket, gripping the candy bars and holding the Coke and beef jerky up.

There were no cries of "Stop! Thief!" There were no rough hands pulling him back. There was nothing to stop him. Until he tripped the door alarm. The shrill sound rent the air as he took off running across the parking lot, his feet slapping the blacktop.

The clerk on duty ran out, waving her hands angrily. "Damn kid, get back here!" He hopped the fence smoothly, darting off into a side alley across the street. The clerk ran inside to phone the police.

Breathing heavily, the boy threw a glance over his shoulder. There was only an empty alley behind him. Leaning against an old brick wall, he caught his breath. He pulled off the sweatshirt, catching the Coke before it had time to fall. Finding a clean spot along the wall, he settled down. Within ten minutes he had eaten half the beef jerky and a candy bar. He managed to save the last half of the Coke, convincing himself he'd need it later. Resting his head against the wall, the boy stared up at the dark blue sky above him. The color reminded him of Heero's eyes, but those steel orbs were far colder than anything up there. He shivered, even though sweat was still trickling down his back from the heat and his race to safety. His eyelids started to droop and his breathing deepened. Within minutes he was asleep, dreaming of cold eyes and hot blood.

//Fire. There was fire everywhere. Wherever he turned it was orange flames and choking smoke. "Hello?" he called, coughing, "Where are you?" Who was he looking for? There was someone inside, he knew it, but who? A slender figure appeared in the doorway, shrouded in smoke. He started to call out, but a beam from overhead fell, crushing the figure beneath its weight. A strangled scream escaped his throat. His heart felt like it would break in two.//

The boy jerked awake, the scream dying on his lips. Sweat trickled down his temples, and he began shaking uncontrollably. A middle-aged woman was standing in front of him, her hand outstretched, a worried look on her face. She was relatively thin and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Her graying hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

"You poor dear!" she said, "Are you alright?" She crouched down in front of him, pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping his forehead.

"I don't know," he said. His throat felt scratchy and his voice was hoarse.

"What's your name, dear?" she asked, helping him up. She smiled at him, her round little glasses glinting in the light from a nearby streetlamp.

"I don't have one," he said after a moment.

"Oh, you're one of those poor war orphans, aren't you?" she said, "Well, we can't have you sleeping out here. You'll catch your death of cold." He felt a grin spreading across his face, wondering how he could catch a cold when it was still at least seventy-five degrees out. She shooed him through a doorway in the alleyway, into a large, cool kitchen. She flipped on the light switch, chattering as she went about gathering things.

"This is the back part of our shop," she said, "My husband's and mine. We sell books. We live in the upper level. This house was originally my grandmother's, and though it's old-fashioned, we like this place. I grew up here, when my father helped Gran run her shop. When my parents died, they left it to me, and I've run it ever since."

The boy nodded along, wondering exactly what she was going to do with him.

"So," she said, turning around and setting a sandwich on the small two-seater table, "What are we going to call you? You've never had a name that you can recall?"

The blonde boy's face flashed through his mind, recalling the conversation. They'd been talking about a person named Duo, but he had no idea if the name was publicly known. He did not want to be found by the cold-eyed Heero.

"I don't think so," he said, "I think my parents died when I was very young." She made a small clucking sound. "Oh, you poor dear," she said.

"Well, we'll have to change that, won't we?" She poured a glass of water and sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He eased into the chair, examining the sandwich.

"What's your name?" he asked, trying to take the focus off him.

"Oh! I haven't introduced myself! I'm Sarah Davis," she said, shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davis."

"Oh, just call me Sarah, please." She waved her hand dismissively.

He took a bite of his sandwich. "Thank you, Sarah," he said through a mouthful of ham, cheese, and bread.

She gestured toward the sandwich. "It's not much, I'm afraid, but it is after midnight," she said.

"How did you find me?" he asked, taking a drink of water.

"You were crying out, thrashing against the wall. I had no idea what was going on," she said.

"Oh."

"You must have been dreaming something terrible. Not that I blame you, with your past. You've probably seen some terrible things."

//I wish I could remember what they were,// he thought, //Wait, that didn't come out right...// He shook his head and sighed.



"Well," she said, "You probably want to get some sleep. I was just doing some cataloging and I was about to go to bed. I realize that that hair of yours will take some time, but I'd like you to take a shower." He just nodded along with her.

"So finish up your sandwich and I'll show you the guest room and the bathroom," she said, getting up. He devoured the last bit of his sandwich and gulped the rest of his water. He followed her out of the kitchen.

"Now, tomorrow, after you've had some breakfast, we can talk about you maybe staying with us for a while," Sarah said, getting him some towels and a washcloth. He stared at her.

"You mean live here?" he asked, "But you don't even know me!" She just looked at him with a smile.

"Oh, dear, I don't need to know you," she said, "I can tell you're one of the good people in this war."

"Oh," he said, wondering vaguely how she tell, and wondering why she couldn't see the thing that made Heero and Quatre want to kill him.

"There you go, dear," she said, handing him the towels, "Feel free to use any of the products you find in there. I'll be going to bed now, but if you have any problems, don't hesitate to come knock on our door, the last one to the left. The guest room is the second to last room on the right. Um, for tonight you'll have to wear the same things you've been wearing...but tomorrow we'll go shopping, alright?" He nodded.

"Alright, then," she said, "Oh, and you'll find gauze under the sink if you need to wrap your arm and head again. Hm, I'll have my husband look at you tomorrow, just to make sure we don't need to go see a doctor. Goodnight." She headed down the hall.

"Goodnight," he murmured. He stood for a moment in the hall, holding the towels, and wondering how she could afford to be so generous and trusting. What if he were a dangerous criminal? Which was entirely possible, since some people obviously thought he was dangerous. He shook his head as he felt another headache coming on. He sighed and entered the bathroom.

The bathroom was very bright against his tired eyes. The paint was shiny white and reflected the light almost painfully. The counter surface was dark blue marble, with light wood cabinets beneath it and a shiny silver faucet in the sink. A large mirror hung above it. The boy in the mirror looked strange to him, and he reached out to trace the features in the glass. Large violet eyes stared back at him out of a lightly tanned, heart-shaped face. His chestnut bangs were constantly falling into his eyes. His mouth was pale pink, almost a cupid bow pout. He frowned at his reflection, wishing he recognized his own face. He winced as he caught sight of the bandages, as if the scrapes knew he was remembering them.

//I'll think about it in the morning,// he thought, yawning. He rummaged around in a drawer under the sink, finally finding a large brush. He turned the water on, letting it warm up a bit as he brushed out his hair. Wincing as he unwrapped the bandages, he stared once again at the scrapes on his arm, and the matching one on his temple. They seemed to be alright; he could already see the start of a scab. He sighed as he stepped under the warm water, turning the pressure on high and rotating his shoulders under the spray. He felt a pang of guilt as he used the last of their shampoo, hoping they had an extra bottle somewhere. He finished washing up as fast as he could, stifling another yawn.

The walls in the guest room were painted a pale blue, with light gray carpeting. There was a full-size bed along one wall, dark blue covers and matching pillows, with a small bedside table and lamp. A small alarm clock glowed one a.m. at him in bright red numbers. He had rewrapped his scrapes, and rummaged around in the almost empty closet, where he found a large black T-shirt. At least something he was going to be wearing was clean. He had dried his hair as much as possible, but it still left a damp trail down his back. The sheets felt cool against his heated skin as he slid into bed, turning off the light and snuggling down into the pillow. This time he didn't dream.

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TBC



So, there's part four. And yes, I am working on part five, but again, it'll probly take a while. So just check up in maybe a week or so, and I hope it'll be up. See ya later!