Author's Note: A big, huge "Thank You!" to my reviewers thus far - Sakusha and Memeal.

Savor the Darkness

-Three-

Duo doesn't stay mad at Wufei's rather domineering parting comment. Really, what's the point? Duo silently grouses as he lowers himself into the nearest chair. He knows he's been operating at lower than optimal levels lately, still... Chang hadn't needed to point it out so obviously.

So caught up in his disgruntlement, Duo doesn't notice the shift in the room around him until gentle fingertips press into his temples. Almost immediately, the dark glower he'd been unaware of glaring eases. Opening his eyes, Duo watches as Heero takes a seat on the ottoman in front him and wraps his warm hands around Duo's left calf.

"He must think we're blind," Trowa comments from behind Duo where he smoothes firm circles into Duo's temples and scalp with his fingertips.

"Or stupid," Heero replies, gently kneading the location of an old war injury on Duo's leg.

A lopsided smile plays along Duo's lips as he finds himself on the verge of defending the very person he'd been irritated with a moment ago. "Eh, you know Wufei. He gets snarky when he's worried."

"He shouldn't be worried in the first place," Heero comments.

From behind him, Trowa softly requests, "Are you going to tell us what's wrong?"

Duo finds it hard to resist the firm, affectionate ministrations of his Owned let alone that hypnotic voice. But he does. "Jeez, guys. It's cool. I'd figured it would take a while to get through this adjustment phase –"

"It's been nearly six months, Duo," Heero admonishes.

"And you haven't answered the question," Trowa points out.

Giving into the inevitable, Duo dredges up some sort of reply to the original concern. "There's nothing wrong, Tro. In fact, everything is perfect." With a sigh, he admits, "I never thought I'd say this, but you guys were right. We really are making this work."

Heero sends him a look that clearly shouts "I told you so" while Trowa replies with: "You know us too well to doubt us, Duo."

"Hmm," Duo agrees, sinking into the relaxing warmth of the attention his tired, tensed-up body is receiving. He's so engrossed with the pleasant fuzzy sensations settling over his brain that he almost doesn't sense the moment Heero meets Trowa's eyes in meaningful silence.

The massages stop but Duo doesn't protest. He listens to the soft sounds of Heero rising from the ottoman and stepping forward. He sighs but leans into the other man's strong chest as Heero gathers him into his arms and stands. God, he hates getting put to bed like some truculent toddler, but Duo doesn't argue. He soaks up Heero's warmth and scent as Trowa precedes them up the stairs and into their shared room.

Five steps inside the threshold, Heero settles both himself and his burden on the wide bed. Duo allows himself to relax as Heero's fingers smooth through his bangs, combing them back from his face while Trowa deals with his shoes. A moment later, Duo finds himself reclining against Heero's chest as Trowa begins a deep massage on his feet. For an instant, Duo feels a little guilty that his Owned have to take care of him like this... But then Heero wraps his arms around Duo and collects his right hand. Duo sighs in pleasure as Heero gently runs his fingertips over Duo's hand and between his fingers. The combination of warmth, affection, massage, and caress lull him into slumber before he can mutter even a token protest.

...ooo...

Trowa lifts his gaze from Duo's sock-clad feet and meets Heero's tense expression. He easily recognizes the young man's scowl as one of serious concern. And, just as easily, he knows Heero can read his own sad look. Something is wrong – very wrong – with Duo, but neither knows exactly what it is. They'd tried subtle suggestions, direct questions, and badgering. They shouldn't have had to. Through their bond, they should have been able to know what troubles their Keeper. Duo had told them that The Oath would not permit secrets or lies between them. But if this is neither a secret nor a lie, then what is it?

As Trowa asks himself this, a slight shiver passes through him accompanied by another possibility. "What if he doesn't know?" he suggests softly to Heero.

The young man's blue eyes return to their sleeping companion and a whole new level of concern is added to the cocooning silence. "Or lies to himself," he whispers.

For a moment, the quiet accompanies them in their thoughts. Each considers bringing up the accusation, estimates the effect of such a confrontation. Again, their gazes meet.

"It's too close to an assignment," Trowa whispers.

Heero agrees but declares, "We'll deal with this when we get back. There'll be no more assignments until we've sorted this out."

Trowa nods. "But for now, he's going to need our support."

Heero sighs and leans toward Duo in order to brush a kiss against the man's hair.

Trowa's hands rub gently at the appendage in his grasp. "We won't lose him," he promises.

Suddenly irritated, Heero demands, "Then why did we choose this profession? This time tomorrow we're going to be infiltrating one of the United Earth Sphere's most secure government compounds. The guards aren't going to give us any quarter. They're going to be using standardized firearms. Possibly night vision equipment –"

"Heero," Trowa says softly, interrupting the unchecked flow of increasingly anxious words. "Do you want to cancel the contract? Duo still has his shuttle. We could get into the cargo business..." Trowa allows his voice to trail off as Heero shakes his head with a heavy sigh.

Trowa doesn't need the other man to tell him what's on his mind. "I know," he murmurs. "Piloting can't possibly compare to the way it is when we're on a mission."

Through trial and error, the three of them had discovered that their connection varies in intensity depending on the task. Dangerous missions had opened them up to each other to such an extent that they could almost read each other's minds, anticipate each other's motions, compensate for each other's limitations. It is the finest symphony Trowa has ever discovered.

"He asks for so little from us," Heero finally replies softly. His fingertips trail gently over the outer edge of Duo's ear. "And he loves the assignments."

Trowa silently concurs. He returns his attention to Duo's lanky body and thinks that, perhaps, he has some idea of the fine line Duo walks every day balancing the happiness of his charges against their safety.

"I don't envy him," Heero says.

Trowa almost winces at the sudden ache in his chest as he considers Duo Maxwell, his abilities, his youth, and his incredible responsibilities.

"We'll keep him safe."

Heero's arms tighten slightly around Duo's shoulders in reply. Trowa feels the same. There is nothing shy of death that would be capable of stopping either himself or Heero Yuy from protecting the one person who has brought such deep caring and hope into their lives. Before Duo, they had done little more than endure life. Now, they laugh at it, immerse themselves in it, and savor it.

Duo had given this to them when no one else had. When no one else had been capable of offering this to them. Both Heero and Trowa know that if there ever comes a time when they will have to pay for Duo's gift, they will. Whatever the price, it could not be anything other than a bargain.

Well and truly asleep, Duo sighs deeply. The following inhalation draws Trowa from the foot of the bed until he's stretched out beside the long-haired man. He slides an arm around Duo's waist and nudges his calf with a knee. Thus bracketing Duo with the warmth of their limbs and torsos, both Heero and Trowa close their eyes and allow themselves to rest.

...ooo...

He hasn't slept in days.

He doesn't need to. The energy he'd stolen from his captors still hums pleasantly through his body.

Arms folded over his chest and his legs crossed, Quatre frowns behind his dark sunglasses. The rhythm of the subway train – normally so soothing – cannot ease the sharp rage that ignites when he thinks of his most recent sojourn in the desert.

Fools, all of them, he criticizes in perfect silence. He doesn't know how many times he's both thought the same thing of his "benefactors" and hidden it behind a mask of innocence. Too many to count.

They'd tried to train him in the use of his powers. And Quatre had played along, allowing them to think they'd been making progress. Feeding their delusions of control.

Control. What an absurd and naïve notion. If it hadn't been absolutely imperative to play the part of the frightened and overwhelmed disciple, Quatre would have laughed out loud every time he found himself entertaining that particular thought. For months he'd hidden his true intentions and his true progress in accepting the powers within. Months of constant falsehoods.

His glare morphs into an easy smirk.

Those pathetic idiots hadn't known the meaning of the word "control."

Through the darkened lenses, Quatre sends his gaze roving over the other passengers on board. Just beneath his skin the power shifts restlessly, the hard contours of its anguineous body rolling against his flesh.

Want...

For a moment, Quatre considers indulging the impulse. He considers an exercise in both selecting and carefully skimming off the energies of his prey. It would be interesting to know exactly how proficient his is. He stares at a collection of college students at the end of the car and wonders if he could vary the consumption for each one. Does he have the power to selectively drain one person in a group? Or even to drain each member at a different pace? Or even kill one, leave another unaffected, and enhance the energies of a third until the unsuspecting youth is gasping with sudden orgasmic pleasure?

Hm. Interesting.

Very interesting.

Want!

The train begins to decelerate and Quatre watches the small group move toward the doors. The power hisses within him. Desires.

The doors sigh open and the students depart blissfully unaware of how close they'd come to being hunted.

The power seethes in response to being denied and Quatre smiles softly to himself. Oh, yes, he would love to test his abilities. But not yet.

He is careful to keep the stolen energy tightly sealed within him. He is just as careful with placating his thirst for more. If the Bedouin had been able to sense his gift all those years ago when it had still been in its harmless fledgling stage, then there may be others. And while it might be a bit of fun to play with ambitious empaths who might approach him and attempt to use him, Quatre honestly doesn't have the time. He must proceed quickly if the first phase of his plans is to be implemented.

Leaning his head back, Quatre watches the dark blur of the tunnel whisper past and waits for his stop.

End of Chapter Three

Glossary:

Anguineous – (adj.) snake-like. (Taken from "The Word Lover's Dictionary" by Josefa Heifetz)