AN:
I don't own Gundam Wing. I wish I did, but I don't.
Warnings - violence, harrowing, angst, scary scene(s)
In response to reviews/e-mails -
I'm not entirely sure what pairing/s there are yet. You can take it anyway you please.
Sorry this took so long. There was a major plot-hole I needed to sort out.
Lastly, if you think you know what has/is happening, why not e-mail me to tell me what you think. Being honest, I'm not quite sure how the story will end, but I do know what is going on, if you see what I mean.
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The Tainted Promise
Chapter 3
The phone in the kitchen rang. As quick as a flash, a teenage boy ran to it and lifted the receiver, his brown braid trailing behind him slightly. "Hello," he said, "this is Duo."
"Hey, Duo, it's Quatre," on the other end of the line, the blonde sat on his bed, holding the telephone. Heero sat at the table, keeping a close eye on his companion.
"Quatre!" Duo exclaimed in greeting. "How ya been? What's up?" He pulled a chair closer and sat down.
"Oh, I'm not too bad," that was an understatement. The Arabian adjusted his position, pulling one foot under him. "Listen, Duo, something's come up and I really need to talk to you about it."
"Ok," Duo smiled. He had no idea what he was about to be told, "I'm listening." Patiently, he sat through Quatre's tale. He could feel the sorrow in his friend's tone. Not only was he shocked by the account, he was in a sort of disbelief. Just like everybody else, he had no clue as to what was going on. Questions flooded his mind but he knew better than to ask them now. "Whoa," he said as Quatre finished talking. "That's pretty tough! You sure you're all right?"
"Well, I'm not alone," Quatre smiled thankfully, "Heero's with me." He explained.
"Heero?" That was the last person that Duo had expected. He also doubted if Heero could really support Quatre that well.
"Yeah, he's been helping find a solution." Once again, he shuffled around, pulling the other foot underneath him now. "Anyway, thanks for listening. I felt I ought to tell you."
"Wait!" Duo exclaimed, jumping up. "Where are you? I'm gonna come." He stretched the phone cord trying to reach a pen and paper. He poised, ready to write.
"Err, L3, X94-39, I think," Heero nodded, verifying that it was correct. "Listen, Duo, you really don't have to, we're fine, Heero and myself."
"Oh, no, I'm coming," Duo scribbled down the last of that address. There was no way he was going to let Heero beat him at people skills, especially not with Quatre. "Well, buddy-boy, I shall see you soon, depending on how quickly I can get transport. Bye!"
"Bye, Duo," then he said, a little quieter, "thanks." He put the receiver down.
"He's coming?" Heero checked. Quatre nodded. Although the Japanese pilot didn't show it, he would rather Duo would not be assisting, but this was the Arabian's business more than his own. Quatre picked up the receiver again and started to dial. He looked uncomfortable as he waited for a reply. The boy was about to hang up when Heero said, "Keep a hold of the line. He'll be training and won't get to it very quickly."
A woman of about twenty pulled back a sliding door to dash to the ringing phone. "Sally Po here, can I help?" Her red lips and red hair, twisted in her own unique style, gave her a fiery appearance.
"Miss Sally, this is Quatre," he got comfortable on the bed again. "Is Wufei there?"
"He's training." Big surprise. She looked behind her. The Preventer could see him from the room she was in. "You're in luck, Quatre. Lady Une was going to send him on a mission this afternoon, so you just caught him." She called to the black haired teenage boy meditating in the inner garden of the dojo. "Wufei, there's a phone call for you."
"Woman," Wufei sternly addressed her, "tell them I'm busy." No-one disturbs his meditation sessions. They were a vital part of training for him.
"But it's Quatre," she tried to reason, intuition telling her of the importance of this call.
"Then tell him to call back later," the boy was quite annoyed at being interrupted.
"Please, Miss Sally, I must speak with him," Quatre could faintly hear their conversation.
"It's very important, Wufei," the Preventer insisted. Reluctantly, the Oriental teenager got up and walked calmly to the room. He slightly snatched the telephone from the woman.
"Quatre, I don't mean to sound rude, but could you make this quick, I need to train."
"Wufei, what I'm going to talk to you about is very hard to believe," the Arabian hoped his friend wouldn't feel that way after he had heard the story. "But you have to believe me, it's all true." With that, he proceeded to narrate the past month's events in the same manner he had for Duo. "And that's the truth." The Oriental's attitude changed.
"I...I," possibly for the first time in his life, Wufei Chang was lost for words. He just didn't know anything to say to his friend. "Winner, I have to admit, I don't understand." He sighed.
"I know," Quatre wiped away the welling tears from having to half relive the past month's events again. "I don't understand it myself, but I felt I really ought to tell you. I've already told Heero and Duo, and I thought you should know, too."
"Well," the Chinese pilot kept his dignified stance. "I hope you don't need me to come over straight away. I'm going on a Preventers' mission this afternoon and won't be back until Thursday evening. Where are you anyway?"
"L3, colony X94-39," Quatre stated. A grin spread across his face, "Does this mean you'll join us?"
"I'm not promising anything," Wufei lowered his tone, "the Preventers' work has to come first, but I'll see if I can meet you there."
"Thanks, Wufei," the blonde relaxed as he put the receiver down. It wasn't a promise, but it was better than refusal. He hadn't called them to ask them for help, that was a bonus. The gang would be all assembled. Except... Trowa would be missing.
"Is he coming too?" Heero inquired, but his friend was far too immersed in his own thoughts to hear. The grave thoughts plagued the Winner heir's mind. Never would the team be complete again. To tell the truth, Quatre had fully expected Heero, if anyone, to die young. For some reason, the Arabian felt the need to cry again. Silently, Heero handed him a tissue he took from the roll of toilet paper. "Is he coming?" Heero repeated himself, keeping his usual monotone.
"Yeah," Quatre sobbed, "we're all going to be here... except Trowa."
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Duo Maxwell settled down in the seat he had been assigned. He brought his brown braid out from under him. Inter-colony transport was always long-haul and boring. It wasn't relatively far from the L2 to L3 areas, only about twelve hours on the particularly fast shuttle he had managed to snag a last minute ticket on. He had pulled a few strings, but this was an emergency. A little less of an emergency than he had made out, but he felt it important to get to his friend as quickly as possible. To him, this was more of an emergency than some of the things they'd seen in the war. Still, it had got him the ticket, and that's what mattered. Quatre needed help now. It was disappointing that even on this ship, he wouldn't get to them much before eleven that evening.
The time difference didn't please Duo much, either. He may arrive at eleven technically, but to his body it would be two in the morning. He had considered flying himself there, but with the time differences and without a copilot it would be difficult. The American pilot didn't want to fall asleep at the controls! At least this way, he could sleep during the journey. Before the shuttle took off, he mentally checked that all was prepared. In the haste to get to his friends, he merely scribbled Hilde a note, praying that she'd understand, packed a few clothes and essentials into a large sports bag and left for the travel agency. The teenage boy had been lucky to catch this flight, just two hours after the call. It had been quite a dash, but it was worth it. If not for anything else, it was worth it to hear the relief in Quatre's voice when he called to tell them when he was coming. He relaxed.
All the questions he had thought of earlier flooded back in his mind. The whole thing made his head spin. Why, why, why? Nothing was making any sense. In the past, Trowa would be protecting Quatre from attacks, not the one to cause them. Duo sighed. Now, he felt obliged to take over from the Latin pilot. There was no way Heero was able to do the job, he wasn't the right type of person. Besides, after Trowa, Duo was Quatre's best friend. It was his duty to protect him. The young boy struggled to remember every last bit of the events. It was hard when he had witnessed none of them first-hand. Perhaps he'd understand better when he'd seen it for himself. Maybe, or, then again, perhaps not. The braided boy shifted around, getting comfortable again. Could even the Arabian himself comprehend the happenings? It was possible, the blonde possessed quite a bit more intellect than he did. Heero often referred to the American as 'baka' - a Japanese term for 'idiot'. Once he got there, he could leave all the thinking to Quatre, just like any straight forward battle. But this wasn't a straight forward battle. It was far more complex and mysterious. Well, Duo Maxwell never had entered a mission being sure he would complete it. At least this time, he was pretty sure he would come out of it with his life. Shinigami - the God of Death. The boy pondered over his nickname. It was a silly nickname really. How could a mere human boy call himself 'the God of Death'? He had no real power over life and death, just a reputation for killing. If he really was Shinigami, he'd bring Trowa back, for Quatre's sake. But no, it wasn't possible. Trowa was gone. Had he not had his pride, the brown-haired boy would have let himself cry. Why had life always been so cruel? Nothing was ever easy, and when something seemed to be going so right, something happened to shatter everything.
"Excuse me, sir?" A stewardess leaned over. "Would you like something to drink, sir?" She smiled. Not her fault, she didn't know.
"Yeah," the young boy put on a happy face, he had to keep cheerful, "I'll go for a nice cold root beer, thanks."
"Certainly, sir," the young woman flicked her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear as she reached for a can and poured it in front of Duo. She moved the drinks trolley on. For a while, the boy sat staring into the dark soda. The stewardess had given him four ice cubes. They each struggled to reach the surface of the all-encompassing liquid. Struggling, like each one of the Gundam pilots struggled to stay afloat in the dark sea that was their lives. The American pilot looked more closely. Four ice cubes, each battling to reach the surface, one smaller than the others was finding itself pushed out because there was only room for three. Four, one missing, for Trowa. And a smaller one, having trouble staying above water, Quatre. Then, the pilot was overcome - he was far too thirsty to just sit staring at a cool soda for its philosophical value.
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Heero walked beside Quatre, keeping a close eye on him as they went grocery shopping. Duo wouldn't arrive until eleven that night, so they didn't have to worry about cooking an evening meal for him. The blonde Arabian had insisted that he came along. As much as he understood that the perfect soldier wanted to protect him, he wasn't keen on staying cooped up in the apartment like some precious treasure, wrapped up in cotton wool. So he pleaded that he really should get out and keep himself occupied. A smart move - this was exactly Heero's argument in the first place of things. The Arabian made doubly sure he'd be taken by keeping a tight grip on his credit card - the only source of money for the two teenage boys, save around three dollars seventy six in small change. It was necessary for them to stock up since very soon it wouldn't just be the two of them, and they had nothing better to do.
"Just what are we buying, anyway?" The Japanese didn't enjoy shopping as much as Quatre did. Normally, he'd just make a list and get what he needed. On this occasion, he saw no need to purchase anything, they had what they needed for the minute, they could always eat out for lunch and dinner, it was just the two of them. He looked around the different shops at the mall.
"Well," the blonde started, "we're rather low on toothpaste, and I thought I'd get some home comforts for Wufei and Duo." The ploy of keeping his mind off things was working. He had nearly completely forgotten about the situation. Heero grunted slightly under his breath, inaudible to his friend. He really didn't feel this was necessary, but it was Quatre's money, not his, and he could spend it how he liked. When you were that rich, money wasn't an object to contend with. The two passed a pizzeria. Quatre stopped. "What's say we have lunch a little early, and shop after?" His friend merely nodded in agreement.
Before long, the four-cheese pizza they had ordered to share was served in front of the two boys. The blonde smiled thankfully at the waitress, but she was far too busy to notice, so he dropped it. Heero picked up the slice nearest to him. The mozzarella cheese stretched from the slice back to the rest of the pizza in thick strings. Quatre watched as his friend pulled harder in order to separate the stubborn piece from the rest of the dish. He sighed and picked up a piece himself to further observe the antics of the cheese. At this time, the Japanese pilot resorted to using a knife to cut the reaching threads of mozzarella prohibiting him from removing the slice. The Arabian watched the cheese closely. It clung to each other, and as hard as he pulled, it wouldn't let go.
"Isn't this cheese remarkable?" He commented to Heero, who was tussling with the cheese from the bite he had just taken. "As much as we try to tear it apart, it desperately sticks together." Heero looked up warily at his companion. He had a feeling about where this was headed. The Arabian slowed his speech. "Just like every living thing clings to life." Tears started to sparkle in his blue eyes.
Heero rose from his chair and firmly slapped his ally. "Quatre," he sat back down, reprimanding the Arabian in his characteristic monotone. "Drop it, forget it. It'll drive you crazy if you don't." Quatre sat, stunned for a minute, realizing that what Heero was saying was true. Silently, he ate, avoiding Heero's protective, piecing stare.
--**--**--
"Time off Preventer's work?" Wufei stood to attention in front of his superior. She was not happy with his request, she showed this in her tone. It was gentle by nature, but now had notes of both shock and objection. She brushed her dirty blonde hair off her shoulder. Her most dedicated Preventer was asking to be temporarily relieved of duties.
"I'm sorry to ask," the Chinese teenager kept his posture rigidly, "but something's come up." She eyed her colleague. It was not like him to ask for time off.
"I can't just let you go," the female colonel sat behind her desk, exercising her authority over the boy. Although there was a chair on the other side, he was not permitted to sit. "You have a mission this afternoon. It is beyond my power to excuse you from that."
"I understand," Wufei resisted looking out of the large window behind the woman's desk, focusing on her. "Would it be possible to suspend me from any further missions indefinitely?"
"Indefinitely!" She sprang from her chair in surprise, knocking it backwards. It made a large thump on the floor, which caught the attention of the two guards who had been guarding the room from outside. They burst in ready for action, but were quickly dismissed. "It's nothing." The two saluted their colonel and left, closing the doors behind them. She turned once again to Wufei. "I don't understand."
"Lady Une, something has come up that I need to deal with," still keeping a dignified soldier's stance he explained as much as he knew, on the basic level.
"Outside of Preventer's work?" The lady questioned. Wufei nodded.
"I don't know how long it will take me," the boy was as still as a statue, "or when I will return to Earth." His colonel eyed him suspiciously. Something of all the old OZ talk of Gundam pilot rebels had stuck. A secret within the Preventer department that the soldiers kept from the superiors was not good. "It's not secret," she relaxed, "it's just not my business to say." Wufei cleverly concealed his lack of understanding in the strange happenings.
"Well, Wufei," she addressed him by his first name, rather than 'Chang' as she was generally encouraged to do for Preventer business, and smiled apologetically, "I shall see what I can do."
"Thank you, Lady Une," the Chinese Preventer saluted his superior, then bowed to her. "If it's a problem for them, let them think I'm sick." He slightly joked and left the room. The woman picked up her fallen chair and sat on it. Immediately, she began to make a phone call in order to pull strings for her best Preventer.
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Quatre sat at the table, looking down at his feet. A fresh scratch graced his right cheek. The spectre had drawn blood when he ran the blonde's nail across his face. He fiddled with his fingers while he waited for Heero to return. The two boys had spent most of that day in silence. The Arabian wasn't in the mood for talk, and the assassin didn't particularly dislike the quiet. On the other hand, his comrade did feel uneasy at this, he felt heavy-hearted about the incident at the pizzeria. The boy sighed. Heero was right - it would drive him insane, but just recently it was all he could think about. Every little thing reminded him of it. He was trapped, like a bird in a cage. His fingers ran over the scratch. It wasn't bleeding and didn't hurt. It certainly wouldn't scar but it wasn't the best thing to show Duo that evening.
Heero knocked on the door before entering, even though he had every right not to. The sudden noise startled Quatre at first, but regaining his composure, the blonde called, "It's ok, Heero, I'm awake." The Japanese boy came into the room. He grunted when he saw that the other pilot had not moved since he left, half an hour ago. The novel the Arabian had been reading was left on the table, untouched. His eyes reinstated what he had said that morning, but it was not received. The brown-haired boy placed the plastic bag on the table in front of his comrade.
"I got dinner," he firmly stated, sitting opposite the blonde.
"Thanks," Quatre spoke quietly and distractedly. He avoided looking at the Japanese teenager even the slightest. Although he had profusely apologized for that morning's incident, he still felt guilty. Silently, Heero unpacked the plastic bag, bringing out two packets of fries and two wrapped burgers. He gently nudged the other boy's arm to get his attention. Quickly, Quatre pulled away and looked up. Slight fear showed in his eyes. He felt like a little boy, in trouble with his parents. A deep rift had placed itself between the two boys since that morning. Heero remained emotionless, trying to give a feeling of regularity.
"Eat," the monotone voice commanded. He unwrapped his burger and began to put it in his mouth instructively. Absent-mindedly, the Arabian began on his fries, one by one. He looked out of the window so as not to glance at the Japanese pilot. Silence as they ate made the rift wider. "I meant what I said this morning." Reluctantly, Quatre turned to him. "If you keep thinking about it, it'll drive you crazy."
"I know," the feet shuffled. His voice was unusually quiet. "I want to forget...but I can't." The last fry found its way to the pilot's mouth, though he was paying it close to no attention. He blinked away tears, not wanting his companion to see them. "I just can't."
"Quatre," blue eyes met blue eyes, "you're going to have to."
"You don't understand, Heero!" Unable to control himself, Quatre stood defiantly up from the table. The tears he had tried to hide flowed quickly down his cheeks, wetting the day's cut. "I can't forget, I just can't!" He left the room quickly. The other boy sat shocked at the sudden outburst.
"Quatre..." Heero reprimanded slowly. Patiently, he waited. The blonde would return. And if he didn't, Heero knew where he had gone.
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Duo Maxwell turned around, examining his surroundings. No longer was he onboard an inter-colony shuttle, someone had placed him in a room - a red room. The braided boy had no idea how he got there, just that he was there. The walls and ceiling were blood red and the eerie dim light made him feel most at unease. He looked around for a door, but there didn't appear to be one. The room's walls glowed as a voice rang out.
"Keep away, Duo," it sent shivers down the young boy's spine. The menacing tone seemed unreal, but despite this, the young pilot recognized that voice.
"Trowa?" He questioned, unable to believe his ears. Sure, it was the Latin boy's voice, but certainly not his usual tone. Realizing his chance, the young boy questioned it. "What you doing?"
"Stay away from Quatre," the walls glowed again as the melancholy demand was issued.
"Whoa," Duo breathed, still disbelieving his ears. Although his confidence was shaken, he kept his nerve. Again, he asked, "what are you doing to Quatre?"
"Keep away!" In a red flash, the spectre of Trowa appeared in front of the American boy, who cried out in surprise. Fire burnt in the emerald eyes and his feet glided across the floor. The fire stared into the boy. "This isn't your business!" It advanced, stepless, invading his personal space.
Duo panicked. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the spirit was too close for his comfort. He ran to the nearest wall and pushed hard, hoping it would open up an exit for him. Slowly, the spectre closed in. The American's breathing quickened in terror. In a desperate attempt, he ran to another end of the room, avoiding the apparition, but he tripped and fell flat on his face. The boy tried to get up, but found the gravity was to great. Quickly, he rolled over. The spectre was a short distance away, ever gliding closer. He brought up his arm to protect himself.
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AN: Please review (again). Criticism will be accepted, flames extinguished. Hopefully this chapter has a fast enough pace? More coming as soon as possible! The next chapter could take longer to post, I'm not sure how much I'll write.
AshLillymon
In response to reviews/e-mails -
I'm not entirely sure what pairing/s there are yet. You can take it anyway you please.
Sorry this took so long. There was a major plot-hole I needed to sort out.
Lastly, if you think you know what has/is happening, why not e-mail me to tell me what you think. Being honest, I'm not quite sure how the story will end, but I do know what is going on, if you see what I mean.
--**--**--
The Tainted Promise
Chapter 3
The phone in the kitchen rang. As quick as a flash, a teenage boy ran to it and lifted the receiver, his brown braid trailing behind him slightly. "Hello," he said, "this is Duo."
"Hey, Duo, it's Quatre," on the other end of the line, the blonde sat on his bed, holding the telephone. Heero sat at the table, keeping a close eye on his companion.
"Quatre!" Duo exclaimed in greeting. "How ya been? What's up?" He pulled a chair closer and sat down.
"Oh, I'm not too bad," that was an understatement. The Arabian adjusted his position, pulling one foot under him. "Listen, Duo, something's come up and I really need to talk to you about it."
"Ok," Duo smiled. He had no idea what he was about to be told, "I'm listening." Patiently, he sat through Quatre's tale. He could feel the sorrow in his friend's tone. Not only was he shocked by the account, he was in a sort of disbelief. Just like everybody else, he had no clue as to what was going on. Questions flooded his mind but he knew better than to ask them now. "Whoa," he said as Quatre finished talking. "That's pretty tough! You sure you're all right?"
"Well, I'm not alone," Quatre smiled thankfully, "Heero's with me." He explained.
"Heero?" That was the last person that Duo had expected. He also doubted if Heero could really support Quatre that well.
"Yeah, he's been helping find a solution." Once again, he shuffled around, pulling the other foot underneath him now. "Anyway, thanks for listening. I felt I ought to tell you."
"Wait!" Duo exclaimed, jumping up. "Where are you? I'm gonna come." He stretched the phone cord trying to reach a pen and paper. He poised, ready to write.
"Err, L3, X94-39, I think," Heero nodded, verifying that it was correct. "Listen, Duo, you really don't have to, we're fine, Heero and myself."
"Oh, no, I'm coming," Duo scribbled down the last of that address. There was no way he was going to let Heero beat him at people skills, especially not with Quatre. "Well, buddy-boy, I shall see you soon, depending on how quickly I can get transport. Bye!"
"Bye, Duo," then he said, a little quieter, "thanks." He put the receiver down.
"He's coming?" Heero checked. Quatre nodded. Although the Japanese pilot didn't show it, he would rather Duo would not be assisting, but this was the Arabian's business more than his own. Quatre picked up the receiver again and started to dial. He looked uncomfortable as he waited for a reply. The boy was about to hang up when Heero said, "Keep a hold of the line. He'll be training and won't get to it very quickly."
A woman of about twenty pulled back a sliding door to dash to the ringing phone. "Sally Po here, can I help?" Her red lips and red hair, twisted in her own unique style, gave her a fiery appearance.
"Miss Sally, this is Quatre," he got comfortable on the bed again. "Is Wufei there?"
"He's training." Big surprise. She looked behind her. The Preventer could see him from the room she was in. "You're in luck, Quatre. Lady Une was going to send him on a mission this afternoon, so you just caught him." She called to the black haired teenage boy meditating in the inner garden of the dojo. "Wufei, there's a phone call for you."
"Woman," Wufei sternly addressed her, "tell them I'm busy." No-one disturbs his meditation sessions. They were a vital part of training for him.
"But it's Quatre," she tried to reason, intuition telling her of the importance of this call.
"Then tell him to call back later," the boy was quite annoyed at being interrupted.
"Please, Miss Sally, I must speak with him," Quatre could faintly hear their conversation.
"It's very important, Wufei," the Preventer insisted. Reluctantly, the Oriental teenager got up and walked calmly to the room. He slightly snatched the telephone from the woman.
"Quatre, I don't mean to sound rude, but could you make this quick, I need to train."
"Wufei, what I'm going to talk to you about is very hard to believe," the Arabian hoped his friend wouldn't feel that way after he had heard the story. "But you have to believe me, it's all true." With that, he proceeded to narrate the past month's events in the same manner he had for Duo. "And that's the truth." The Oriental's attitude changed.
"I...I," possibly for the first time in his life, Wufei Chang was lost for words. He just didn't know anything to say to his friend. "Winner, I have to admit, I don't understand." He sighed.
"I know," Quatre wiped away the welling tears from having to half relive the past month's events again. "I don't understand it myself, but I felt I really ought to tell you. I've already told Heero and Duo, and I thought you should know, too."
"Well," the Chinese pilot kept his dignified stance. "I hope you don't need me to come over straight away. I'm going on a Preventers' mission this afternoon and won't be back until Thursday evening. Where are you anyway?"
"L3, colony X94-39," Quatre stated. A grin spread across his face, "Does this mean you'll join us?"
"I'm not promising anything," Wufei lowered his tone, "the Preventers' work has to come first, but I'll see if I can meet you there."
"Thanks, Wufei," the blonde relaxed as he put the receiver down. It wasn't a promise, but it was better than refusal. He hadn't called them to ask them for help, that was a bonus. The gang would be all assembled. Except... Trowa would be missing.
"Is he coming too?" Heero inquired, but his friend was far too immersed in his own thoughts to hear. The grave thoughts plagued the Winner heir's mind. Never would the team be complete again. To tell the truth, Quatre had fully expected Heero, if anyone, to die young. For some reason, the Arabian felt the need to cry again. Silently, Heero handed him a tissue he took from the roll of toilet paper. "Is he coming?" Heero repeated himself, keeping his usual monotone.
"Yeah," Quatre sobbed, "we're all going to be here... except Trowa."
--**--**--
Duo Maxwell settled down in the seat he had been assigned. He brought his brown braid out from under him. Inter-colony transport was always long-haul and boring. It wasn't relatively far from the L2 to L3 areas, only about twelve hours on the particularly fast shuttle he had managed to snag a last minute ticket on. He had pulled a few strings, but this was an emergency. A little less of an emergency than he had made out, but he felt it important to get to his friend as quickly as possible. To him, this was more of an emergency than some of the things they'd seen in the war. Still, it had got him the ticket, and that's what mattered. Quatre needed help now. It was disappointing that even on this ship, he wouldn't get to them much before eleven that evening.
The time difference didn't please Duo much, either. He may arrive at eleven technically, but to his body it would be two in the morning. He had considered flying himself there, but with the time differences and without a copilot it would be difficult. The American pilot didn't want to fall asleep at the controls! At least this way, he could sleep during the journey. Before the shuttle took off, he mentally checked that all was prepared. In the haste to get to his friends, he merely scribbled Hilde a note, praying that she'd understand, packed a few clothes and essentials into a large sports bag and left for the travel agency. The teenage boy had been lucky to catch this flight, just two hours after the call. It had been quite a dash, but it was worth it. If not for anything else, it was worth it to hear the relief in Quatre's voice when he called to tell them when he was coming. He relaxed.
All the questions he had thought of earlier flooded back in his mind. The whole thing made his head spin. Why, why, why? Nothing was making any sense. In the past, Trowa would be protecting Quatre from attacks, not the one to cause them. Duo sighed. Now, he felt obliged to take over from the Latin pilot. There was no way Heero was able to do the job, he wasn't the right type of person. Besides, after Trowa, Duo was Quatre's best friend. It was his duty to protect him. The young boy struggled to remember every last bit of the events. It was hard when he had witnessed none of them first-hand. Perhaps he'd understand better when he'd seen it for himself. Maybe, or, then again, perhaps not. The braided boy shifted around, getting comfortable again. Could even the Arabian himself comprehend the happenings? It was possible, the blonde possessed quite a bit more intellect than he did. Heero often referred to the American as 'baka' - a Japanese term for 'idiot'. Once he got there, he could leave all the thinking to Quatre, just like any straight forward battle. But this wasn't a straight forward battle. It was far more complex and mysterious. Well, Duo Maxwell never had entered a mission being sure he would complete it. At least this time, he was pretty sure he would come out of it with his life. Shinigami - the God of Death. The boy pondered over his nickname. It was a silly nickname really. How could a mere human boy call himself 'the God of Death'? He had no real power over life and death, just a reputation for killing. If he really was Shinigami, he'd bring Trowa back, for Quatre's sake. But no, it wasn't possible. Trowa was gone. Had he not had his pride, the brown-haired boy would have let himself cry. Why had life always been so cruel? Nothing was ever easy, and when something seemed to be going so right, something happened to shatter everything.
"Excuse me, sir?" A stewardess leaned over. "Would you like something to drink, sir?" She smiled. Not her fault, she didn't know.
"Yeah," the young boy put on a happy face, he had to keep cheerful, "I'll go for a nice cold root beer, thanks."
"Certainly, sir," the young woman flicked her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear as she reached for a can and poured it in front of Duo. She moved the drinks trolley on. For a while, the boy sat staring into the dark soda. The stewardess had given him four ice cubes. They each struggled to reach the surface of the all-encompassing liquid. Struggling, like each one of the Gundam pilots struggled to stay afloat in the dark sea that was their lives. The American pilot looked more closely. Four ice cubes, each battling to reach the surface, one smaller than the others was finding itself pushed out because there was only room for three. Four, one missing, for Trowa. And a smaller one, having trouble staying above water, Quatre. Then, the pilot was overcome - he was far too thirsty to just sit staring at a cool soda for its philosophical value.
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Heero walked beside Quatre, keeping a close eye on him as they went grocery shopping. Duo wouldn't arrive until eleven that night, so they didn't have to worry about cooking an evening meal for him. The blonde Arabian had insisted that he came along. As much as he understood that the perfect soldier wanted to protect him, he wasn't keen on staying cooped up in the apartment like some precious treasure, wrapped up in cotton wool. So he pleaded that he really should get out and keep himself occupied. A smart move - this was exactly Heero's argument in the first place of things. The Arabian made doubly sure he'd be taken by keeping a tight grip on his credit card - the only source of money for the two teenage boys, save around three dollars seventy six in small change. It was necessary for them to stock up since very soon it wouldn't just be the two of them, and they had nothing better to do.
"Just what are we buying, anyway?" The Japanese didn't enjoy shopping as much as Quatre did. Normally, he'd just make a list and get what he needed. On this occasion, he saw no need to purchase anything, they had what they needed for the minute, they could always eat out for lunch and dinner, it was just the two of them. He looked around the different shops at the mall.
"Well," the blonde started, "we're rather low on toothpaste, and I thought I'd get some home comforts for Wufei and Duo." The ploy of keeping his mind off things was working. He had nearly completely forgotten about the situation. Heero grunted slightly under his breath, inaudible to his friend. He really didn't feel this was necessary, but it was Quatre's money, not his, and he could spend it how he liked. When you were that rich, money wasn't an object to contend with. The two passed a pizzeria. Quatre stopped. "What's say we have lunch a little early, and shop after?" His friend merely nodded in agreement.
Before long, the four-cheese pizza they had ordered to share was served in front of the two boys. The blonde smiled thankfully at the waitress, but she was far too busy to notice, so he dropped it. Heero picked up the slice nearest to him. The mozzarella cheese stretched from the slice back to the rest of the pizza in thick strings. Quatre watched as his friend pulled harder in order to separate the stubborn piece from the rest of the dish. He sighed and picked up a piece himself to further observe the antics of the cheese. At this time, the Japanese pilot resorted to using a knife to cut the reaching threads of mozzarella prohibiting him from removing the slice. The Arabian watched the cheese closely. It clung to each other, and as hard as he pulled, it wouldn't let go.
"Isn't this cheese remarkable?" He commented to Heero, who was tussling with the cheese from the bite he had just taken. "As much as we try to tear it apart, it desperately sticks together." Heero looked up warily at his companion. He had a feeling about where this was headed. The Arabian slowed his speech. "Just like every living thing clings to life." Tears started to sparkle in his blue eyes.
Heero rose from his chair and firmly slapped his ally. "Quatre," he sat back down, reprimanding the Arabian in his characteristic monotone. "Drop it, forget it. It'll drive you crazy if you don't." Quatre sat, stunned for a minute, realizing that what Heero was saying was true. Silently, he ate, avoiding Heero's protective, piecing stare.
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"Time off Preventer's work?" Wufei stood to attention in front of his superior. She was not happy with his request, she showed this in her tone. It was gentle by nature, but now had notes of both shock and objection. She brushed her dirty blonde hair off her shoulder. Her most dedicated Preventer was asking to be temporarily relieved of duties.
"I'm sorry to ask," the Chinese teenager kept his posture rigidly, "but something's come up." She eyed her colleague. It was not like him to ask for time off.
"I can't just let you go," the female colonel sat behind her desk, exercising her authority over the boy. Although there was a chair on the other side, he was not permitted to sit. "You have a mission this afternoon. It is beyond my power to excuse you from that."
"I understand," Wufei resisted looking out of the large window behind the woman's desk, focusing on her. "Would it be possible to suspend me from any further missions indefinitely?"
"Indefinitely!" She sprang from her chair in surprise, knocking it backwards. It made a large thump on the floor, which caught the attention of the two guards who had been guarding the room from outside. They burst in ready for action, but were quickly dismissed. "It's nothing." The two saluted their colonel and left, closing the doors behind them. She turned once again to Wufei. "I don't understand."
"Lady Une, something has come up that I need to deal with," still keeping a dignified soldier's stance he explained as much as he knew, on the basic level.
"Outside of Preventer's work?" The lady questioned. Wufei nodded.
"I don't know how long it will take me," the boy was as still as a statue, "or when I will return to Earth." His colonel eyed him suspiciously. Something of all the old OZ talk of Gundam pilot rebels had stuck. A secret within the Preventer department that the soldiers kept from the superiors was not good. "It's not secret," she relaxed, "it's just not my business to say." Wufei cleverly concealed his lack of understanding in the strange happenings.
"Well, Wufei," she addressed him by his first name, rather than 'Chang' as she was generally encouraged to do for Preventer business, and smiled apologetically, "I shall see what I can do."
"Thank you, Lady Une," the Chinese Preventer saluted his superior, then bowed to her. "If it's a problem for them, let them think I'm sick." He slightly joked and left the room. The woman picked up her fallen chair and sat on it. Immediately, she began to make a phone call in order to pull strings for her best Preventer.
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Quatre sat at the table, looking down at his feet. A fresh scratch graced his right cheek. The spectre had drawn blood when he ran the blonde's nail across his face. He fiddled with his fingers while he waited for Heero to return. The two boys had spent most of that day in silence. The Arabian wasn't in the mood for talk, and the assassin didn't particularly dislike the quiet. On the other hand, his comrade did feel uneasy at this, he felt heavy-hearted about the incident at the pizzeria. The boy sighed. Heero was right - it would drive him insane, but just recently it was all he could think about. Every little thing reminded him of it. He was trapped, like a bird in a cage. His fingers ran over the scratch. It wasn't bleeding and didn't hurt. It certainly wouldn't scar but it wasn't the best thing to show Duo that evening.
Heero knocked on the door before entering, even though he had every right not to. The sudden noise startled Quatre at first, but regaining his composure, the blonde called, "It's ok, Heero, I'm awake." The Japanese boy came into the room. He grunted when he saw that the other pilot had not moved since he left, half an hour ago. The novel the Arabian had been reading was left on the table, untouched. His eyes reinstated what he had said that morning, but it was not received. The brown-haired boy placed the plastic bag on the table in front of his comrade.
"I got dinner," he firmly stated, sitting opposite the blonde.
"Thanks," Quatre spoke quietly and distractedly. He avoided looking at the Japanese teenager even the slightest. Although he had profusely apologized for that morning's incident, he still felt guilty. Silently, Heero unpacked the plastic bag, bringing out two packets of fries and two wrapped burgers. He gently nudged the other boy's arm to get his attention. Quickly, Quatre pulled away and looked up. Slight fear showed in his eyes. He felt like a little boy, in trouble with his parents. A deep rift had placed itself between the two boys since that morning. Heero remained emotionless, trying to give a feeling of regularity.
"Eat," the monotone voice commanded. He unwrapped his burger and began to put it in his mouth instructively. Absent-mindedly, the Arabian began on his fries, one by one. He looked out of the window so as not to glance at the Japanese pilot. Silence as they ate made the rift wider. "I meant what I said this morning." Reluctantly, Quatre turned to him. "If you keep thinking about it, it'll drive you crazy."
"I know," the feet shuffled. His voice was unusually quiet. "I want to forget...but I can't." The last fry found its way to the pilot's mouth, though he was paying it close to no attention. He blinked away tears, not wanting his companion to see them. "I just can't."
"Quatre," blue eyes met blue eyes, "you're going to have to."
"You don't understand, Heero!" Unable to control himself, Quatre stood defiantly up from the table. The tears he had tried to hide flowed quickly down his cheeks, wetting the day's cut. "I can't forget, I just can't!" He left the room quickly. The other boy sat shocked at the sudden outburst.
"Quatre..." Heero reprimanded slowly. Patiently, he waited. The blonde would return. And if he didn't, Heero knew where he had gone.
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Duo Maxwell turned around, examining his surroundings. No longer was he onboard an inter-colony shuttle, someone had placed him in a room - a red room. The braided boy had no idea how he got there, just that he was there. The walls and ceiling were blood red and the eerie dim light made him feel most at unease. He looked around for a door, but there didn't appear to be one. The room's walls glowed as a voice rang out.
"Keep away, Duo," it sent shivers down the young boy's spine. The menacing tone seemed unreal, but despite this, the young pilot recognized that voice.
"Trowa?" He questioned, unable to believe his ears. Sure, it was the Latin boy's voice, but certainly not his usual tone. Realizing his chance, the young boy questioned it. "What you doing?"
"Stay away from Quatre," the walls glowed again as the melancholy demand was issued.
"Whoa," Duo breathed, still disbelieving his ears. Although his confidence was shaken, he kept his nerve. Again, he asked, "what are you doing to Quatre?"
"Keep away!" In a red flash, the spectre of Trowa appeared in front of the American boy, who cried out in surprise. Fire burnt in the emerald eyes and his feet glided across the floor. The fire stared into the boy. "This isn't your business!" It advanced, stepless, invading his personal space.
Duo panicked. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the spirit was too close for his comfort. He ran to the nearest wall and pushed hard, hoping it would open up an exit for him. Slowly, the spectre closed in. The American's breathing quickened in terror. In a desperate attempt, he ran to another end of the room, avoiding the apparition, but he tripped and fell flat on his face. The boy tried to get up, but found the gravity was to great. Quickly, he rolled over. The spectre was a short distance away, ever gliding closer. He brought up his arm to protect himself.
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AN: Please review (again). Criticism will be accepted, flames extinguished. Hopefully this chapter has a fast enough pace? More coming as soon as possible! The next chapter could take longer to post, I'm not sure how much I'll write.
AshLillymon
