Drowning: Chapter 14

Philosophies of Wounded Souls

Pairings: 1xR, 2xH, 4xOC

Quatre's POV

Warnings: angst, violence

Notes: sorry this chapter took a little longer than usual to get up, finals are going to kill me and spit on my grave

Disclaimer: don't own

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drifting in the cold arms of unfeeling space. Watching the Earth below me, its warm hazy oceans and puffed clouds rising like steam in a bath. It seems so distant. I feel so far away from it all.

There is pain here. Pain like a thousand scimitars cutting through skin and muscle and puncturing organs. There's no blood, but there is water. Where is it coming from? There's no water in space. Only down on that jewel-like planet below. Ahh. They're my tears. They're so bright, like little diamonds that wink and sparkle in the starlight.

The visions and emotions pass through my mind with such clarity as I have never seen before.

There a child, crying over the body of her dead mother. I feel her sadness as if it is my own. The tears flow more freely.

There a teenage boy, being bullied; shoved, kicked, hit, bruised, humiliated. I feel his wounds as if they were my own. I feel his hot humiliation like an ember in my stomach.

There an old man, his arthritic joints pain him with every step, every movement. I feel his age, the weight of many years, I know his wisdom and his sufferings.

And there. My father. I know it's him, but I don't know how that can be. My father is dead. My father died and left me all alone for an ideal, for a belief. Is dying for a belief really that important? To leave me without you, Father!? He's gone. Can't stand to look upon his only son, the murderer, the terrorist, the shame on our family name. I can't bear to look at myself.

Going to war changed nothing. I am still the pointless creation I have always been. A fragile machine ready to be crushed in the jaws of the callous emotions of others. A child without a purpose. A child without a soul.

There is so much pain here…so much…Father help me…Father help me!

I awake in pain. It's only my own.

"Quatre? Quatre, are you awake now?" Sara says, her pretty face looking down into mine with real concern

"Where are we?" My voice is hoarse, like I've been screaming. I probably have.

"We…" she starts, her eyes taking on a distant terrified look, "We're back where we started."

At first I don't understand. We're not in the bare room we woke up in before, this place is too dark. But then I realize. We're back where this all started. In the holding cells beneath Dr. Azrael's labs. This building must be only one of many on the satellite. The other labs for the other children would have been connected to this one. No wonder it took them so long to find this place. Above us, it merely looks like office buildings. No one could guess the sinister things that went on just below their feet.

We're still sitting in plain view in the hallway we came in before I passed out. Sara managed to put a bandage on my bleeding shoulder while I was out. It wasn't done very well, but it looks like she used her own sweater to make it. Just sitting in her white undershirt, her arms wrapped around herself, she looks lost and afraid. With my good arm I reach up and brush back her soft red hair with my hand. At the contact a spark of emotion passes between us. She looks up, her bright green eyes boring holes into mine, looking into my soul.

"We need to move out of this hallway, to someplace safe. How long have I been out?"

"Not long. A few minutes at most. Quatre…? Quatre, are you dying?" she asks in a fearful whisper…don't leave me all alone…

"I'm not going anywhere Sara," I reach out again and take her small hand in mine, giving it a gently squeeze.

She puts her hands under my good arm and helps me to my feet. I'm dizzy when I stand I can feel the warm blood trickle down my ribs. We make our way slowly over to an open door. It's an old storage closet. Nothing could ever make us hide in the actual cells.

It's strange that the men haven't come down here yet. Perhaps they're searching the floor above us very carefully. There are a lot of places one could hide in a lab.

Sara gently lowers me to the ground where I'm able to rest my spinning head against the solid wall. She's gone back to her curled up position and wide starry eyes. She looks like she might go into shock at any moment. Not good.

"Sara, hey, come on now. It'll all be ok. I know things seem pretty bad right now…"

"Pretty bad?" she asks incredulously, "We've been kidnapped, you've been shot, we're in the last place in space I ever wanted to be in, there's so much pain here I think I might throw up any second, and it's just pretty bad? No Quatre. This isn't pretty bad. This is awful. This is beyond awful! Oh God! What if I never see my family again, or my friends…I don't want to die here! I don't want to die here! No…please God no!"

She's sobbing so hard it looks painful. Her ranting has trickled off into incoherent mumblings. Oh, Allah. I don't know what to do. There's something here that I can't feel. Something that I'm only getting a small glimpse of from her. It must be horrible. She needs to get out of here and soon. This isn't the confident fiery Sara I spoke with over the phone or got a tongue lashing from upstairs. This is the five-year-old Sara who has been locked in a white cell for so long she can't remember her name. Who has been experimented on and made to experience the sufferings of hundreds of other children. This is the Sara that knows for certain that death could come at any instant to snuff out her beautiful little life in the most horrible way imaginable.

I know this because that was the same way I was. I'm guessing the only reason I'm not in the same state is because there's something wrong with my empathy. Something that doesn't allow me to feel other's pain. There has been something wrong with my empathy for quite some time now. It's just taken me this long to realize it.

"Sara? What did you mean, the other day, when we were speaking on the phone?"

"What?" she says, her voice cracking with barely suppressed sobs.

"When we…I don't know…connected for that moment. When you said that I had lost my anchor?"

"I don't know," she sighs miserably, trying to reign in the flood of emotions, "It just sounded like the right thing to say."

She's getting better now. Sometimes we can get overloaded with emotions and we have a bit of a breakdown. It takes a little while to find the balance within ourselves, the mental state that allows us to block out a certain amount and let the rest float through our minds like a peaceful river. After a while I don't even notice the constant stream of emotions. I can only imagine that it's the same for her. She's regaining control over the emotions.

There. She's under control now. She smiles a little at me, already knowing that I know exactly what happened to her. Then a small frown creases her face.

"Quatre, you've been having problems with your ability lately. That's why you called, right?"

"Ya…it's like I can't feel people's pain anymore," I say.

"You're blocking the pain. I can feel that," she says with certainty.

"Really? How am I doing that?"

"I think it has to do with these…I don't know…empathic overloads? you've been having. And your empathy is growing. I can feel that too. Every…I don't know…"

"Episode?"

"Yes, episode you have it grows even more than when you're just awake. Since we've been here I've felt all this. And the last episode you had…the one just a few minutes ago? You were in a great deal of pain. I think your body is trying to protect you from the pain right now, because your growing empathy can't handle it."

"I think you could be right!" I say excitedly. I knew she would be able to help me.

"But why is your empathy growing…?" she says, becoming lost in her own speculations.

"I'm not sure, but what you said to me, about me losing my anchor keeps striking a chord with me."

Sara 'hmmms' for a bit, idly playing with a stray lock of hair.

"Maybe," I whisper, "Maybe it's because I'm not like other people."

"Well of course you're not like other people. You're YOU," Sara says, her hand waving in the air as if to brush away the ridiculousness of the statement.

"No. I mean…I don't think…I don't think I'm quite…well…human," I respond, a slight tremble making it's way through my body.

"Why would you say that?" Sara whispers in alarm.

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I don't have a soul."

She stares at me in shock for several seconds, her eyes wide with shock.

"How could you ever say that? Oh, Quatre! You have a soul! It's a bright as day. I can see it shining in you like a beacon. It's beautiful. Why do you think you don't have a soul? Everyone has a soul!"

"Because I wasn't born, Sara. I was…created," I spit out, "I'm not even a real person. People who are created by man can't have souls. I thought that maybe by going to war and becoming a Gunam pilot I could find a purpose for my life…but it just made me feel even worse afterwards. Oh, I believe that what we did in the long run was right…but at what cost? I can't even feel people right anymore. How could someone who could feel others' pain kill? How could I turn against everything I believed in and felt? Was it just so I could have a purpose in life? What a selfish, arrogant reason for murdering people!!"

I'm shaking in earnest now. I lump the size of a tennis ball seems lodged in my throat. I can't speak. There are tears pooled in my eyes. Don't cry damnit! Allah, no wonder your father didn't want to live anymore! Look at the miserable excuse for a son he has!

Sara's light arms come around my shoulders and she pulls my face against her shoulder and lets me cry.

"Your father loved you Quatre. He loved you so much. He didn't leave you…he didn't. And you have a soul. I can see it," Sara whispers comfortingly, softly stroking my hair.

I wonder through my tears how she can know that I was thinking about my father, but I guess I shouldn't wonder. She can see things in me just like I can see things in her, in everyone else.

"Oh, Quatre. You're just as messed up as the rest of us," she says with a small chuckle. I pull away a little, wiping my face with my palms. The tears have washed away some of the blood that was dried there.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to go all to pieces on you like that…"

"Don't apologize. You did the same for me. Besides, it gave me an idea."

"What?"

"I think your father was your anchor."

"What do you mean?" I must look funny, my eyes all puffy from crying and now widened in incomprehension.

"When we came back from Dr. Azrael's labs…back from here…we each latched on to someone we loved. Someone who we, I don't know, bonded with. It helped us keep our empathy in balance. They helped us stay sane after all that had happened to us. For me it was my brother. I've never been all that close with my parents. Ever since they decided my entire life for me up to the person I was going to marry, I wasn't exactly fond of them…"

I smile a little. It sounds like we have more in common than just a shitty childhood experience.

"But anyway," she continues, "When my brother went off to war, it was like I could still feel him, even though he was far away. And when he was injured…it was the most awful thing in the world. I even went a little mad to tell you the truth. My parents had me locked in my room, I had become so violent. It wasn't until he came back that I calmed down and was able to function normally again. During that time though, my empathy was kind of messed up too…not to the extent that yours is…but still enough to make me crazy."

"I went mad when my father died," I whisper, my head tuned away in shame, "I did…I did some really horrible things during that time. If it hadn't been for my friends, the other pilots, I would either still be mad or be dead. They pulled me back. Ever since then though I've been having these empathic problems."

"That's it then!" Sara says excitedly, "Your father and my brother help keep our empathy in check. Without them, we have nothing to keep us attached to humanity. We're evolved beings, Quatre. It looks like you're starting to move even farther away from your humanity, just like you said…"

She trails off, realizing what she said. The terrifying possibilities of losing my humanity flash through my mind in a whirl of sickening images.

"What do I do?" I ask desperately, "I don't want to lose that! I want to be like everyone else!"

"Maybe there's a way to stop it…" she says, thinking out loud, but I can tell she's not buying into the idea.

"What happens when my empathy gets so strong that my body can't block all the pain I'm feeling? What happens if these visions start taking over? I'll go mad! Allah, Sara! What am I going to do?" My voice has steadily crept up in pitch until my words are little more than a terrified whine of sound.

"I don't know! I just don't…did you hear that?" she asks suddenly.

Even with my empathy on the fritz I can feel people coming towards us. It's the men from upstairs!

We're both frozen with fear. Whether it's our own or the men's neither of us is sure. We can't leave the closet, it opens right onto the hallway where they will be in a second. I can feel their frustration as they search one door at a time coming closer and closer to our hiding place.

With a loud cracking sound the door to the closet is yanked open and a bright flash of light shines into my eyes. My hands fly up to block the light as a large hand latches onto my injured arm and hauls me upright. A sharp sigh of pain escapes my lips. Sara is also being hauled up. She's kicking and thrashing like a wild thing, trying to reach me through my/her pain.

"Quatre!"

"Sara!"

They're hurting her! They're hurting her!!! Stop it! Stop it! I'll kill you!!! I'll kill you for hurting her!!!!

Then suddenly I'm touching her and it's like a dam in my mind has burst. White hot pain threads its way through every fiber of my being. My pain, her pain, our attacker's pain, the world's pain. It's a tempest in my mind. It's like the pain in my visions, only worse and this time I know I'm awake. This isn't an episode. This is real.

I'm shrieking in pain, my hands ripping at my hair in a desperate attempt to stop the agony. Through the blood red haze of pain I see the men around me clutching their heads, grimaces of pain spread like sinister masks across their bloated faces. I'm projecting my own pain back on them! I'm making them feel it and it's terrible.

Sara is there, trying to hold me upright, but the pain keeps coming and coming. It's a flood swirling through me, a flash flood of white acid agony that screams it's way through every nerve ending and muscle in my body.

I'm awash in it…I'm struggling through it with gasping sobs and churning arms…it's washing into my face and down into my mouth.

…I'm drowning…I'm drowning…I'm drowning…

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In case you haven't realized this by now…I'm a little sick in the head. Why else would I enjoy writing such terrible things? Well…it's all cool as long as other people enjoy the fruits of my sickness. Thanks to all my reviewers! And thanks for being patient!

Hey! If you enjoy dark sadistic writings, check out my other short story I just wrote: "Ghost in the Darkness."

-NostalgieMalaak