AN:
I don't own Gundam Wing. I wish I did, but I don't.
Warnings - violence, harrowing, slight angst, scary scene(s)?
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope you like this chapter, too!
Sorry I took so long getting this chapter posted.
There aren't meant to be any pairings, but if you wish to imagine things in
another way, feel free.
--**--**--
The Tainted Promise
Chapter 2
After arranging to meet with the psychic again, Heero, who had waited in the adjacent room, drove Quatre to the apartment they were renting. They sat in silence for most of the journey, until Heero had to stop the car at a traffic light.
"Well," he said, not turning to look at his comrade, "did she help you?"
"I'm not sure," Quatre looked down at his feet, "but I certainly feel better doing something." The light turned green and Heero pushed his foot down onto the accelerator. "Thanks." He brought his head up in order to look at his friend.
"What for?" Heero returned Quatre's gaze, but his voice remained emotionless.
"For helping me with this. I don't know as I could get through it without you." He returned to staring at the floor.
"The least I could do." There was a pause, as he changed gear. "I know how much Trowa meant to you, Quatre. And somehow I feel as if I'm helping him, too." That ended their conversation. Heero drove blankly on, while the blonde sat solemnly, looking at his feet, sorrow ever present in his blue eyes. He didn't feel much like talking.
--**--**--
Later that day, Quatre sat on his bed, reading a novel. The blonde Arabian was blissfully unaware of the time. Coming into the room, Heero checked his watch while the door still blocked him from his friend's view. Five to four. He slowly closed the door. Upon seeing how peacefully the small boy read, Heero decided it was for the best not to alert him of the approaching time. He ran his hand through his short brown hair and sat at the wooden table. Although he opened his laptop, he kept a close eye on Quatre as the fateful hour drew near.
As if on cue, at four o'clock, the book he was reading was snatched from Quatre's hands and flung to the floor. A startled cry came from Quatre's mouth. Something grabbed his lower arm tightly and an invisible force punched him in the jaw. Tears glistened in the sparkling blue eyes. Heero sprang up to defend his ally. Unsure quite how to help, he shielded Quatre, hoping to block any further blows. The spirit levered the two boys apart, pushing Quatre flat on the bed and Heero down to the floor. The ballpoint pen on the writing desk picked itself up and began to pen a note. Heero and Quatre sat up. After finishing writing, the piece of paper dropped itself to the floor, face up, and the two pilots read the message. 'Stay out of this, Heero, or else.' It had been quickly scrawled but the handwriting was unmistakable - it was Trowa's. The force then pushed Quatre firmly against the wall behind the bed and the young Arabian hit his head. Finally, the welling tears ran down the blonde's cheeks. "Please, stop," Quatre cried. The spirit then slapped him on one cheek then the other and apparently left. The slaps stung with the wet from his tears. He continued to cry, not moving from the spot.
Heero stood up, placing the piece of paper back on the writing desk. "Is it gone?"
"He's gone."
"You ok?" Heero walked over to the bed and looked hard at his friend. He received no reply. "Hey," Heero knelt down and placed his hand under Quatre's chin, raising his face to look at him, "you ok?"
"I...I think so," came the shaky reply. Tears still streaked down his face, though he was no longer truly crying. Heero looked around the room. He silently returned Quatre's book to him, and noticed the small patch of blood on the wall that the force had pushed the boy against.
"You're bleeding," he observed, rubbing at the patch until it came off, "you sure you're ok?" He stared hard yet amicably at his friend, imploring him to give the full picture.
"I think I'm getting a headache," the blonde confessed. He rubbed the cover of the book with his thumb. The Japanese pilot got up and closed his laptop. The soft click of the plastic catch seemed to bring Quatre out of a semi-daydream. He looked up at what the other boy was doing. Next, Heero went to the sink and wet an amount of toilet paper. He gave the wad to Quatre.
"Keep that there until the bleeding stops," he instructed, "I'm going to the store. I won't be long. I'm gonna get some aspirin and food. Lie down. Sleep if you will. You call me immediately if it starts to swell, ok?" He waited for a reply.
"Sure." Quatre lay down as Heero left the room. He relaxed, knowing that the Japanese pilot would be true to his word.
--**--**--
The store was not far from the apartment, so Heero walked the distance. This gave him chance to ponder the situation. It certainly wasn't remotely like a run-of-the-mill mission. All he knew was that he had to help, but how? What or who were they fighting? He hadn't even sensed Trowa's presence like Quatre could. Yet not even Quatre understood what was happening. The whole situation was incomprehensible - far beyond the bounds of normal happenings. Heero doubted that there had ever been an incidence like it in history. Was there anyone who could help? He had given his friend the contacts for the medium, Madame DePlume, but could she really help? Heero took a step back from these thoughts, realizing how bleak they were. Perhaps he looked into this too much. Maybe it was better to regard this on a more simple level, at least for now.
He examined the facts first. Trowa was dead - shot and killed. In his dying breaths, he promised Quatre that he'd never leave him. Now there were these attacks on Quatre, at the same time every day, during which time Quatre claimed he felt Trowa's presence. The only piece of hard evidence in all of it was the note in the Latin pilot's handwriting. That was unmistakable.
His thoughts turned to Quatre. As if grieving for his friend wasn't enough, he had to deal with these attacks. Right now, he needed protection, but how were you supposed to protect a person from a something that no one can see and no one knows what it is? Heero had never faced Trowa in hand to hand combat, but this spirit, assuming Quatre was right and it was Trowa, seemed stronger than he could be. The young assassin hadn't been hurt when the presence pushed him to the floor, but he had certainly felt the force. He wondered if Trowa had that kind of physical strength.
Although he was dead, Trowa was still very much a part of this equation. Even if Quatre was mistaken, his death was what had brought about these attacks. Though he trusted his friend's word, Heero did find it hard to believe that Trowa would hurt his best friend like that. What would the circus performer really have wanted? He had considered himself too young to write a will, but that probably wouldn't help here anyway. Heero was pretty sure that Trowa would have wanted Quatre to be happy after his death, but these attacks made him wonder.
As the red letters of the store's sign came into view as Heero turned a corner, the boy changed his perspective, thinking back to when Quatre told him about these happenings. It was pure chance, luck-of-the-draw that he was the person the Winner heir told. He had been the one in the relevant place at the relevant time. Had he left it much longer, he would have been willing to tell the next person to walk into the room he was in, be it a friend, one of his sisters, a business associate or a complete stranger. Quatre had been near breaking point, and that's why Heero felt truly obliged to help in every way he could.
Heero's thoughts were broken as he reached his destination. He quickly decided to keep things on a simple level - he knew what to do for now, anyway. He must protect Quatre from these attacks no matter what.
--**--**--
When Heero returned to the apartment, he found that Quatre had fallen asleep. He looked so peaceful that Heero left him as he was and started to unpack the shopping. So peaceful now, who would guess the sorrows and stresses that plagued the young boy? Heero took especial care not to make too much noise. It wasn't difficult for him, as being as quiet as possible was part of his assassin nature. He carefully unwrapped a plastic cup and filled it with water from the tap. This he placed on the table, along with two aspirin, ready for when Quatre woke up. The small fridge made a buzzing sound too loud for the comfort of Heero, so he quickly shut its door as soon as he had placed the milk in it. He counted the money he had left and checked it with the receipt. They'd have to get more money from the bank for tomorrow. Putting the bag in the bin, Heero turned to the kettle and boiled some water for the two pots of instant pasta he'd bought. One day at a time - tomorrow they may be somewhere completely different. One day could be instant pasta; the next could be three course meals at the most creditable restaurant in town. As the kettle came to the boil, Heero was thankful that it didn't whistle. He wanted to let Quatre sleep while he could. Slowly, he stirred the pasta mix around with a plastic spoon. The pieces of pasta appeared to be drowning in the seemingly too large amount of water that had been added. It reminded him of how Quatre was in way over his head with all these happenings. If only there was someone who understood what they were dealing with. He slightly sighed and sat back to wait the five minutes for the tomato sauce to thicken and the pasta to expand. Reaching over, he opened his laptop and switched it on. The pilot contemplated e-mailing their friends but thought better of it - if Quatre didn't want them to know, who was he to go against his friend's wishes? Taking another plastic cup from the packet, he filled it with water for himself. The pasta was ready now. Heero walked over to where Quatre was peacefully sleeping on top of the bed. He placed one hand on the boy's shoulder and gently shook him.
"Quatre," he gently said, "Quatre, dinner's ready." Slowly, the blonde opened his eyes. He sat up and stretched.
"Thanks," he smiled slightly. Heero straightened up.
"You hungry?" He walked up to the table and pulled up a chair. Quatre followed suit.
"Yeah," he took one of the aspirin his friend had left for him. "Thanks." He took the other. Heero passed him a plastic fork for his meal. Gratefully, he began to eat. Heero watched him for a while. "Aren't you hungry, Heero?" Quatre inquired. In reply, the young pilot began to eat.
When he had finished, Heero turned to his friend. "Are you planning on telling Duo and Wufei?" The question had not left his mind since the trip to the shop.
"I've already informed them of Trowa's death..."
"No," Heero stopped him, "I mean about these," he paused, struggling to find an appropriate word, "attacks."
"Oh," Quatre lost the faint smile and turned his face to his feet again, "I'm not sure...I ought to, I guess."
"Quatre, you don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."
"No," the two pairs of blue eyes met, "I really should." Tearless sorrow glistened in Quatre's gaze. "I...I want to."
--**--**--
Heero quickly glanced around the red room. He had no idea where he was, or how he got there. It was blank, apart from red walls on every side - blood red walls. There was no door. The half-light was adequate but appeared to come from absolutely nowhere. Heero grunted.
A figure appeared before the Japanese boy. "Trowa?" The pilot questioned. It looked like Trowa, but it didn't seem to be all there. His feet did not quite reach the floor, though he seemed to be standing. What really made Heero doubt his vision was the expression he wore. True, Trowa was a Gundam pilot, hardened by many battles and war, but Heero knew that expression was beyond him. He had never seen such a hard, steely, aggressive look on anyone's face before, and certainly hadn't expected to receive it from Trowa. Although he was quite taken aback by this, he took care not to let it show.
"You stay away from Quatre," his voice was menacing, "stay away." The figure advanced a stepless pace. "This is our business, keep out of it. Just leave us alone!" With that, Heero saw fire burning in Trowa's eyes.
"But why?"
"This isn't your affair. Keep away from Quatre-"
--**--**--
Heero sat bolt upright, sweating and panting heavily. It took a minute for the familiar apartment bedroom to come into focus.
"Heero, Heero, are you all right?" Quatre was knelt by the side of his bed. He looked very concerned. "You were tossing and turning, and calling. Do you feel all right?"
"Fine. Just a bad dream." If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to further burden Quatre with nursing him as well. To calm the blonde's nerves, he visibly relaxed. "Did I wake you?"
"No, I got cold and noticed you were sweating. Are you sure you're all right?" As much as he hated to admit it, he had been quite shaken up by that dream. But it was the last thing he'd do to confess it to Quatre.
"I'm fine," he reasserted. "Go back to bed, Quatre, it's," he glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting to see it in the darkness, "only a quarter after three." Reluctantly, the blonde stood up.
"Are you sure? Maybe I should check your temperature." The look of worry just couldn't be shifted from his expression.
"No," the pilot firmly stated as he lay back down. "Go back to bed."
"Please," the blue eyes begged, "it would make me feel a whole lot better." Heero sighed. There was no way he was going to dissuade his friend. Besides, if it would put the blonde's mind at ease, it wouldn't hurt. Seeing Heero's permission, Quatre took the digital thermometer from where it rested on the sink. He handed it to his friend. When it beeped, the Arabian took it back. He smiled. "You're normal. Night, Heero." Quietly, he slipped back into bed. Heero waited to make sure his friend was asleep before drifting back into slumber himself.
To be continued... --**--**--
AN: Again, please review. Criticism will be accepted, flames extinguished. More coming as soon as possible!
AshLillymon
--**--**--
The Tainted Promise
Chapter 2
After arranging to meet with the psychic again, Heero, who had waited in the adjacent room, drove Quatre to the apartment they were renting. They sat in silence for most of the journey, until Heero had to stop the car at a traffic light.
"Well," he said, not turning to look at his comrade, "did she help you?"
"I'm not sure," Quatre looked down at his feet, "but I certainly feel better doing something." The light turned green and Heero pushed his foot down onto the accelerator. "Thanks." He brought his head up in order to look at his friend.
"What for?" Heero returned Quatre's gaze, but his voice remained emotionless.
"For helping me with this. I don't know as I could get through it without you." He returned to staring at the floor.
"The least I could do." There was a pause, as he changed gear. "I know how much Trowa meant to you, Quatre. And somehow I feel as if I'm helping him, too." That ended their conversation. Heero drove blankly on, while the blonde sat solemnly, looking at his feet, sorrow ever present in his blue eyes. He didn't feel much like talking.
--**--**--
Later that day, Quatre sat on his bed, reading a novel. The blonde Arabian was blissfully unaware of the time. Coming into the room, Heero checked his watch while the door still blocked him from his friend's view. Five to four. He slowly closed the door. Upon seeing how peacefully the small boy read, Heero decided it was for the best not to alert him of the approaching time. He ran his hand through his short brown hair and sat at the wooden table. Although he opened his laptop, he kept a close eye on Quatre as the fateful hour drew near.
As if on cue, at four o'clock, the book he was reading was snatched from Quatre's hands and flung to the floor. A startled cry came from Quatre's mouth. Something grabbed his lower arm tightly and an invisible force punched him in the jaw. Tears glistened in the sparkling blue eyes. Heero sprang up to defend his ally. Unsure quite how to help, he shielded Quatre, hoping to block any further blows. The spirit levered the two boys apart, pushing Quatre flat on the bed and Heero down to the floor. The ballpoint pen on the writing desk picked itself up and began to pen a note. Heero and Quatre sat up. After finishing writing, the piece of paper dropped itself to the floor, face up, and the two pilots read the message. 'Stay out of this, Heero, or else.' It had been quickly scrawled but the handwriting was unmistakable - it was Trowa's. The force then pushed Quatre firmly against the wall behind the bed and the young Arabian hit his head. Finally, the welling tears ran down the blonde's cheeks. "Please, stop," Quatre cried. The spirit then slapped him on one cheek then the other and apparently left. The slaps stung with the wet from his tears. He continued to cry, not moving from the spot.
Heero stood up, placing the piece of paper back on the writing desk. "Is it gone?"
"He's gone."
"You ok?" Heero walked over to the bed and looked hard at his friend. He received no reply. "Hey," Heero knelt down and placed his hand under Quatre's chin, raising his face to look at him, "you ok?"
"I...I think so," came the shaky reply. Tears still streaked down his face, though he was no longer truly crying. Heero looked around the room. He silently returned Quatre's book to him, and noticed the small patch of blood on the wall that the force had pushed the boy against.
"You're bleeding," he observed, rubbing at the patch until it came off, "you sure you're ok?" He stared hard yet amicably at his friend, imploring him to give the full picture.
"I think I'm getting a headache," the blonde confessed. He rubbed the cover of the book with his thumb. The Japanese pilot got up and closed his laptop. The soft click of the plastic catch seemed to bring Quatre out of a semi-daydream. He looked up at what the other boy was doing. Next, Heero went to the sink and wet an amount of toilet paper. He gave the wad to Quatre.
"Keep that there until the bleeding stops," he instructed, "I'm going to the store. I won't be long. I'm gonna get some aspirin and food. Lie down. Sleep if you will. You call me immediately if it starts to swell, ok?" He waited for a reply.
"Sure." Quatre lay down as Heero left the room. He relaxed, knowing that the Japanese pilot would be true to his word.
--**--**--
The store was not far from the apartment, so Heero walked the distance. This gave him chance to ponder the situation. It certainly wasn't remotely like a run-of-the-mill mission. All he knew was that he had to help, but how? What or who were they fighting? He hadn't even sensed Trowa's presence like Quatre could. Yet not even Quatre understood what was happening. The whole situation was incomprehensible - far beyond the bounds of normal happenings. Heero doubted that there had ever been an incidence like it in history. Was there anyone who could help? He had given his friend the contacts for the medium, Madame DePlume, but could she really help? Heero took a step back from these thoughts, realizing how bleak they were. Perhaps he looked into this too much. Maybe it was better to regard this on a more simple level, at least for now.
He examined the facts first. Trowa was dead - shot and killed. In his dying breaths, he promised Quatre that he'd never leave him. Now there were these attacks on Quatre, at the same time every day, during which time Quatre claimed he felt Trowa's presence. The only piece of hard evidence in all of it was the note in the Latin pilot's handwriting. That was unmistakable.
His thoughts turned to Quatre. As if grieving for his friend wasn't enough, he had to deal with these attacks. Right now, he needed protection, but how were you supposed to protect a person from a something that no one can see and no one knows what it is? Heero had never faced Trowa in hand to hand combat, but this spirit, assuming Quatre was right and it was Trowa, seemed stronger than he could be. The young assassin hadn't been hurt when the presence pushed him to the floor, but he had certainly felt the force. He wondered if Trowa had that kind of physical strength.
Although he was dead, Trowa was still very much a part of this equation. Even if Quatre was mistaken, his death was what had brought about these attacks. Though he trusted his friend's word, Heero did find it hard to believe that Trowa would hurt his best friend like that. What would the circus performer really have wanted? He had considered himself too young to write a will, but that probably wouldn't help here anyway. Heero was pretty sure that Trowa would have wanted Quatre to be happy after his death, but these attacks made him wonder.
As the red letters of the store's sign came into view as Heero turned a corner, the boy changed his perspective, thinking back to when Quatre told him about these happenings. It was pure chance, luck-of-the-draw that he was the person the Winner heir told. He had been the one in the relevant place at the relevant time. Had he left it much longer, he would have been willing to tell the next person to walk into the room he was in, be it a friend, one of his sisters, a business associate or a complete stranger. Quatre had been near breaking point, and that's why Heero felt truly obliged to help in every way he could.
Heero's thoughts were broken as he reached his destination. He quickly decided to keep things on a simple level - he knew what to do for now, anyway. He must protect Quatre from these attacks no matter what.
--**--**--
When Heero returned to the apartment, he found that Quatre had fallen asleep. He looked so peaceful that Heero left him as he was and started to unpack the shopping. So peaceful now, who would guess the sorrows and stresses that plagued the young boy? Heero took especial care not to make too much noise. It wasn't difficult for him, as being as quiet as possible was part of his assassin nature. He carefully unwrapped a plastic cup and filled it with water from the tap. This he placed on the table, along with two aspirin, ready for when Quatre woke up. The small fridge made a buzzing sound too loud for the comfort of Heero, so he quickly shut its door as soon as he had placed the milk in it. He counted the money he had left and checked it with the receipt. They'd have to get more money from the bank for tomorrow. Putting the bag in the bin, Heero turned to the kettle and boiled some water for the two pots of instant pasta he'd bought. One day at a time - tomorrow they may be somewhere completely different. One day could be instant pasta; the next could be three course meals at the most creditable restaurant in town. As the kettle came to the boil, Heero was thankful that it didn't whistle. He wanted to let Quatre sleep while he could. Slowly, he stirred the pasta mix around with a plastic spoon. The pieces of pasta appeared to be drowning in the seemingly too large amount of water that had been added. It reminded him of how Quatre was in way over his head with all these happenings. If only there was someone who understood what they were dealing with. He slightly sighed and sat back to wait the five minutes for the tomato sauce to thicken and the pasta to expand. Reaching over, he opened his laptop and switched it on. The pilot contemplated e-mailing their friends but thought better of it - if Quatre didn't want them to know, who was he to go against his friend's wishes? Taking another plastic cup from the packet, he filled it with water for himself. The pasta was ready now. Heero walked over to where Quatre was peacefully sleeping on top of the bed. He placed one hand on the boy's shoulder and gently shook him.
"Quatre," he gently said, "Quatre, dinner's ready." Slowly, the blonde opened his eyes. He sat up and stretched.
"Thanks," he smiled slightly. Heero straightened up.
"You hungry?" He walked up to the table and pulled up a chair. Quatre followed suit.
"Yeah," he took one of the aspirin his friend had left for him. "Thanks." He took the other. Heero passed him a plastic fork for his meal. Gratefully, he began to eat. Heero watched him for a while. "Aren't you hungry, Heero?" Quatre inquired. In reply, the young pilot began to eat.
When he had finished, Heero turned to his friend. "Are you planning on telling Duo and Wufei?" The question had not left his mind since the trip to the shop.
"I've already informed them of Trowa's death..."
"No," Heero stopped him, "I mean about these," he paused, struggling to find an appropriate word, "attacks."
"Oh," Quatre lost the faint smile and turned his face to his feet again, "I'm not sure...I ought to, I guess."
"Quatre, you don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."
"No," the two pairs of blue eyes met, "I really should." Tearless sorrow glistened in Quatre's gaze. "I...I want to."
--**--**--
Heero quickly glanced around the red room. He had no idea where he was, or how he got there. It was blank, apart from red walls on every side - blood red walls. There was no door. The half-light was adequate but appeared to come from absolutely nowhere. Heero grunted.
A figure appeared before the Japanese boy. "Trowa?" The pilot questioned. It looked like Trowa, but it didn't seem to be all there. His feet did not quite reach the floor, though he seemed to be standing. What really made Heero doubt his vision was the expression he wore. True, Trowa was a Gundam pilot, hardened by many battles and war, but Heero knew that expression was beyond him. He had never seen such a hard, steely, aggressive look on anyone's face before, and certainly hadn't expected to receive it from Trowa. Although he was quite taken aback by this, he took care not to let it show.
"You stay away from Quatre," his voice was menacing, "stay away." The figure advanced a stepless pace. "This is our business, keep out of it. Just leave us alone!" With that, Heero saw fire burning in Trowa's eyes.
"But why?"
"This isn't your affair. Keep away from Quatre-"
--**--**--
Heero sat bolt upright, sweating and panting heavily. It took a minute for the familiar apartment bedroom to come into focus.
"Heero, Heero, are you all right?" Quatre was knelt by the side of his bed. He looked very concerned. "You were tossing and turning, and calling. Do you feel all right?"
"Fine. Just a bad dream." If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to further burden Quatre with nursing him as well. To calm the blonde's nerves, he visibly relaxed. "Did I wake you?"
"No, I got cold and noticed you were sweating. Are you sure you're all right?" As much as he hated to admit it, he had been quite shaken up by that dream. But it was the last thing he'd do to confess it to Quatre.
"I'm fine," he reasserted. "Go back to bed, Quatre, it's," he glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting to see it in the darkness, "only a quarter after three." Reluctantly, the blonde stood up.
"Are you sure? Maybe I should check your temperature." The look of worry just couldn't be shifted from his expression.
"No," the pilot firmly stated as he lay back down. "Go back to bed."
"Please," the blue eyes begged, "it would make me feel a whole lot better." Heero sighed. There was no way he was going to dissuade his friend. Besides, if it would put the blonde's mind at ease, it wouldn't hurt. Seeing Heero's permission, Quatre took the digital thermometer from where it rested on the sink. He handed it to his friend. When it beeped, the Arabian took it back. He smiled. "You're normal. Night, Heero." Quietly, he slipped back into bed. Heero waited to make sure his friend was asleep before drifting back into slumber himself.
To be continued... --**--**--
AN: Again, please review. Criticism will be accepted, flames extinguished. More coming as soon as possible!
AshLillymon
