Disclaimers: Don't own Gundam Wing. Don't own idea. Just writing the fic.

Yes, that squiggly thing's still a line break.

-BEGIN FIC-

Quatre rubbed his forehead as he stooped over the large tome that laid sprawled open upon the desk before him, his eyes glazed and unfocused thanks to the wear of staring at the miniscule print of the book and the strain of having to translate the ancient, nearly forgotten German text into decipherable English. He'd been staring at the book for nearly three hours, attempting to verify the validity of the tales he'd heard leak from the villagers in the coffee houses around the small town concerning the duchy that had once ruled this remote region, the royal family that had lived in the castle who's ruins still existed there, and the fates of Katrina and Heero Yuy, the only daughter of that family and her peasant lover respectfully.

He was being haunted.

Three times now in the last four months that he'd been in Germany had he been visited by the specter who's tale flew from the lips of the townspeople he was surrounded by. The first time had been one night after its first reported appearance – the very day he'd arrived in the town he was required by his lover to refer to as 'home.' The appearance of the silent specter in his bedroom had shaken him considerably, nearly leading to one of the short-breathed panic attacks that were so severe they caused him to break into nervous sweats and forced his heart to skip beats that had originally been the cause of his agreement to follow Trowa's wild plan to move into the reclusive countryside of Germany to escape the stress that was apparently causing his health problems. Trowa had found him in the bedroom kneeling upon the floor before the mirror-toting dresser, hands clenched over his chest, skin clammy and lightly dotted with sweat, eyes huge with horror. Upon questioning his lover, all the brunette could get out of Quatre was, 'it wasn't you, was it?'

The second was five weeks later, taking place when he'd visited the ruins of the castle that once protected the lands upon which he now lived – Trowa had wanted to visit the site, being fascinated by the prospect of ancient history existing in his near vicinity as it did not back in New York. When Quatre had stumbled into the room that apparently had once been the living quarters of one of the noble family members he'd seen the specter again, catching a glimpse of the tall, dark-haired, pale form floating behind him as he wiped centuries of dust from a cracked looking glass. Yet another attack visited him, resulting in his elongated stay in the small hospital he referred to as his work place laying upon a bed instead of hovering over a patient upon that bed, an IV in his arm and sensors glued to his chest to regulate his fluid levels and monitor his irregular heart murmurs.

The third and worst had been barely five days ago, upon the supposed anniversary of the peasant lover of the princess' death.

Upon the anniversary of Heero Yuy's death.

He and Trowa had been walking through the town's square, heading towards the hospital. When Quatre had screamed in terror and drawn the attention of everyone who was in the center of the village they were beginning to call home, it had taken a sound slap across his face to shake his gaze from the empty green field that divided the road into a clear left and right side, splitting the downtown road with lush grass and park benches. Blinking once, eyes still wide with horror, he turned his gaze to Trowa, veritably screaming "don't you see it? Right there in the park! God, they hung him right there in the park!" Quatre had turned back after Trowa shook him roughly and snapped that there was nothing in the park and that he needed to come to his senses, blinking and softly whispering "but he was there a moment ago. Right there. He was swinging in the breeze…." After he breathed his quiet whimper, he'd passed out in Trowa's arms, body limp and lips slack.

Trowa had suggested that night when Quatre had regained consciousness that he take time off from work and seek professional assistance to rid him of these strange nightmares that had suddenly beset him.

Quatre had scoffed at the notion of seeing a psychiatrist, and decided to take it upon himself to discover exactly what kind of force it was that apparently wished to haunt and terrify him to death. And thus, leaving the comforting environment of his now familiar hospital work environment, he found his way into the quiet solitude of the town's lonely library and locked himself away in its musty corridors and dark passageways, sorting through centuries old tomes and crumbling parchment records of days and duties long since past.

His haunting experiences having all involved the tall, dark-haired man of legend – or so he thusly supposed by the fact that Heero Yuy was the only specter mentioned by the townsfolk – he began his search as logically as he could deduce to do so by seeking information about the peasant in question regarding to his life and station.

Search as he might, Quatre had yet to discover any record of the young peasant in any of the texts he had located. Tax records which dated back beyond the time of Katrina and her royal family which held within their pages the scrawled names of every man, every man's wife and every man's child did not once give the name 'Heero Yuy' nor mention any foreign man living upon the lands governed by the duchy. The land the villagers insisted he once farmed, the very land upon which his rented house sat, had no record of any owner during that era. Indeed, the Lady Katrina was recorded to have married a young suitor from the nearby barony known as Triton Bloom and her child was reported to have been his, contrasting starkly with the stories every person he'd interviewed had given him about the relationship between Heero and Katrina and their supposed lovechild.

Either the name and the man were a farce of a fairy tale dreamed up by the village as a whole, or this particular man had been written out of history.

The entire development had Quatre scratching his head to ward off frustration after frustration, cursing dead end after dead end, seeking answers and clues that even he was beginning to doubt even existed.

Trowa was worrying about him, Quatre knew. He was spending more and more hours in the dusty, ancient, lonely library than he was at home. He was neglecting his duties in the hospital, telling them each day that he'd return the following working period. He was losing weight, skipping meals to remain locked in the library's confines to research the mystery behind the ghost that was haunting his every waking moment. He was growing pale, seeming to become more translucent and fragile with every passing day.

But Trowa wouldn't worry much.

After all, as Quatre already suspected, he'd very likely already taken another lover.

He'd witnessed his companion chatting comfortably with a young lady who apparently went by the name 'Silvia' in the coffee house that sat across the street from the woodcraft store Trowa liked to frequent, speaking softly and intimately in French, attempting to hide their suggestive conversation from the ears of trespassers.

Quatre had silently listened, standing by the door. He'd just as silently left.

He'd suspected for quite some time that the young lady he'd seen from a distance was the reason his lover had so insisted on journeying to Germany, simply using Quatre's ill health as an excuse to make the trip.

Truth be told, Quatre had wanted to go to Saudi Arabia .

Instead, he was stuck in the German countryside, being haunted by a man who didn't appear in any of the historical records he'd been able to locate thus far, driven to the brink of a nervous breakdown and heart failure by forces he couldn't control and didn't want interfering in his already disjointed, stress-filled life.

It was in that library in the hours that stretched long after the other regular visitors to that lonely hovel of dust and words had returned to the sanctuaries they kept close to their hearts as that precious commodity called 'home' that he, still crammed in the building's dark recesses pouring over books, came across a possible lead for the information he so desired.

Dorothy Catalonia, who's daughter had married a man with the last name of Dorlain.

A possible tie to a young lady who lived near the outskirts of town, who was generally avoided by the village population under the suspicion that she practiced the dark arts of witchcraft.

Such superstition found no home in Quatre's heart, nor did it serve to conjure any fear. Rather, the vague mention of the family name in the ancient kingdom's court roster served to bolster his hopes that he could learn something about this being who seemed intent on torturing him to death by appearing bloodied and dead, swollen tongue filling a slack-jawed mouth and Prussian Blue eyes rolled back in almond-shaped eye sockets to stare at the top of a battered skull sporting soft brown hair that fluttered lightly in the breeze even as the limp body loosely swung back and forth, the timbers of the gallows creaking as the dead weight they supported shifted…

Quatre covered his eyes with his hands, whimpering softly in the darkness of the steadily settling night as the vision of what he'd seen in the town's square firmly established its presence at the forefront of his mind's eye.

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Walking with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes narrowed behind reflective black sunglasses, the blonde man glanced back and forth as he made his way along the winding thin trail that left the sanctity of the small town village to wander to the singular small home that supposedly resided at the dusty path's end.

It was an easy enough trial to follow, relieving any worry that he might possibly get lost out in the relatively small yet surprisingly imposing forest that he was surrounded by, the pale tan color of the dirt easily seen against the dark and lush green of the grasses that sprawled in all directions only to die off by that path and under the shade of massive reaching trees. Sunlight dappled along the path, flickering along his wandering black form, its gentle touch not enough to serve to heat him as he made his way through the relatively cool shade, his clothing's black coloration not having time to absorb the heat that poured from the daystar that hovered in the sky.

Black t-shirt and black jeans rustled as a playful afternoon breeze whistled by, graciously touching nearly unnaturally pale skin and tousling platinum blonde hair. It was an easy enough feel to lose oneself in, relaxing while walking the easy, nearly completely flat path to the not-so-frightening to the non-skeptic destination.

He opened his eyes as his feet scraped against not dirt but gravel and the mewing of cats leaked from the atmosphere around him. Calmly sliding his sunglasses from his face and folding them to stuff them into his back pocket, he glanced around to observe his surroundings.

The house was a small shack, looking to contain no more than two or perhaps three rooms, serviced by an outdoor open well for water and an outhouse which pointed at an obvious lack of indoor plumbing. Made of brick and mortar, it was nearly so overgrown with moss and covered with decayed plant material that it nearly blended in perfectly with its surroundings, its dark red coloration poking out from shades of brown and green at irregular intervals along its walls. Nestled amongst tall domineering trees and full, fluffy bushes, it looked right at home in the midst of the wild that was not so very far removed from the small hint of civilization the town but a couple of miles down the dusty trail lent to the area.

And it was crawling with cats.

Quatre took a moment to reflect that this supposed 'town witch' had at least met the ages old superstition of having more domesticated cats than any one person could hope to provide liter boxes for and would most certainly be evicted for in any high-rise apartment complex he lived in while back States-side.

Walking up to the door, he set his knuckles to it with a gentle rasping motion.

After minutes ticked by, he resorted to pounding roughly on the door.

He was greeted by a harried looking woman who'd practically ripped the old solid-wood door off its nearly rusted hinges in her desperation to see who it was so rudely rapping upon her door.

Looking her up and down, Quatre found himself a bit less than impressed. He'd expected more from a supposed witch.

The young lady who couldn't have been more than twenty five years of age stared at him with wide blue eyes framed with dark lashes dusted lightly with black mascara that peered out of a round, pale-skinned face. Her thin lips, coated with a shiny layer of lip-gloss, were turned down in a slight frown. High-set cheekbones carried upon them the faintest hint of powder blush. Her lithe body was covered with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans that fit nearly as tightly as a second skin. White tennis shoes tapped on the carpeted floor as her small hands found their ways to her hips, pink colored fingernails drumming at her waistline. "Well?" she began, her voice loud with irritation, "Would you mind explaining why you're pounding on my door?"

'Alright,' Quatre thought to himself, 'not the looks nor the expected aura of mysticism, but certainly the attitude. If her voice rasped, it'd be perfect.' Ridding his mind of his reflections, he crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared her down. "I was waiting for you to answer the door. You failed to reply to more polite knocking."

"I was busy in the back," she said with a sigh. "Sorry, then. What do you want of me? I haven't seen you around these parts."

"I'm new. Moved here about four months ago. And I want answers," he blurted, interrupting her before she could possibly interrupt him with questions concerning his move to the village down the dusty path from her.

"Answers, huh? And exactly what kind of answers are you seeking?" she questioned as she stepped away from the door to reenter the soothing darkness that was her living room.

Taking her actions as a gesture meant to goad him into the small shack's inner recesses, Quatre followed in her footsteps, making his way into the cluttered living room and stepping over a stray cat who looked at him indignantly for interrupting its mousy meal. Arching a brow at the animal, he continued to the nearby dusty couch and flopped ungracefully down into its cushions, raising a cloud of ages forgotten settlement that set him to sneezing violently.

"Sorry about that!" the young woman's voice rang from the entrance to the room that apparently lead to what he could discern to be the kitchen by the bright white tiles he saw behind her slight frame. "I haven't dusted in there for ages. Don't get any company to really have to worry about upkeep, as you can probably deduce."

Coughing to clear his lungs, he turned accusatory eyes to her. "Obviously. What, no mystic powers of deduction to see that you'd have a visitor here today and thus better prepare yourself?"

She simply arched a brow. "You don't believe in magic, do you?"

"I pride myself on being a man of science."

"Ah, I see! But yet you bring yourself to a believer in the Art to find answers? Could your science not find them?"

Snorting coldly, Quatre let his gaze narrow as he softly murmured his reply, "It did succeed. It lead me to the descendent of the one who might have had insight on to what occurred to bring me such hassles today."

"I see. Perhaps you should clarify this?"

"I'm being haunted."

The young lady chuckled quietly. "Haunted? But certainly you don't believe in ghosts, do you?"

Glaring icily, Quatre hissed, "Let's not begin on that rather touchy subject, Miss Relena. I still do not believe in ghosts, and shall not place any solid belief in their existence until I see something that lasts for more than a nightmarish blink or a dream before my waking eyes. Perhaps it's a simple psychosis that was brought on by the terrible little tales that float around the village down the path."

"About Heero Yuy, the peasant ghost?"

"Ah, so you know of him?" Quatre pushed, his glaring eyes hardening with dire intent.

Nodding once, seemingly oblivious to the dreadful threats that hovered behind the icy blue irises that made up the young man's eyes, Relena Dorlain cleared her throat. "It was partially because of him that my great ancestor, Dorothy Catalonia, found herself staked and burned in the town's center in a protest against the dark powers of witchcraft."

"I see. Explicate upon this, please."

Continuing calmly, she closed her eyes. "How much do you know of Lady Katrina and Heero Yuy?"

"Enough. I know of their relationship, of what came to pass of their coupling and their supposed 'pagan' marriage, and why he was hung. I have also been made aware by the people of the town that the peasant's ghost is the one that's frequenting this region."

"That is true," Relena said calmly, her eyes opening to show their brilliant aqua coloration to the rising rays of the sun. "He was murdered unjustly, blamed for a falsified raping of the princess that ruined her eligibility to be married in the eyes of her suitors. He was hung in the town's center; he was hung in the very place my ancestor was burned but five years later."

"So, whatever happened? I can understand the entire bitterness theory about his supposed remaining upon the plane of the living. However, I'd think that bitterness might have faded by now. This is no world for him, and certainly he must realize it. Would you not agree?"

"Oh, I would," Relena agreed as she nodded, "that he does not belong here and he should have faded ages ago. However, things simply aren't that simple. It's thanks to Dorothy's interference that he's still around this day."

"I see. Explain."

Folding her hands together, the young blonde woman leaned against a wall facing Quatre. "Dorothy Catalonia was a loyal servant of the duchy that was once the power that ruled this land. Serving in the royal court, she was the family's soothsayer and magician. She performed her duties to the best of her abilities, predicting when the droughts would come and go, what crops would be most plentiful and which of the family's neighboring kingdoms' merchants would be paying the most for their goods. They had no problems at all with her service, until the young Lady Katrina was found to be with child.

"Katrina was like a prized niece to Dorothy, having always clung to her during her youth and taken her as her role model to emulate as she grew up in her simple family role. Dorothy loved her small charge and cared for her as well as she could ever hope to do so without directly infringing upon the family's right to rule over her life. And thus, when it was found that she was with child and later found that her husband was murdered unjustly, it was Dorothy who took the most concern for the young Lady's health.

"It was she who bound Heero Yuy's soul to the Earth when she first heard the whispers of suicidal intent flow from the young Lady's lips. It was because of her interference that he was able to speak with the Lady once again and tell her to live on, to carry their child and bring it into the world, to raise it in defiance of her parents' wishes."

Arching a brow, Quatre softly interrupted, "I take it you have proof of this."

"I have a copy of Dorothy Catalonia's journal, if you'd so like to see it."

"That I would."

The young lady vanished from the room for a few moments. Loud bangs and crashes rumbled through the small shack for many a long stretch of a minute before she reemerged from the cluttered backspaces of her home, an ancient tome held in a grimy hand. "Here you are."

"Thank you." Taking the book, Quatre opened it and frowned. "It's going to be a bitch translating this," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Her eyes set upon him, Relena let a small smile take her lips. "Take it with you, then."

Raising his gaze, staring at her with shock completely evident upon his face, he gasped, "Are you certain? This is a family heirloom for you!"

"It's quite alright," Relena said softly before mysteriously adding, "I know it will be returned to me."

Staring at her incredulously for a moment, he shook his head before returning his gaze to the tome. "Would you mind continuing?"

"Very well, then. I'll continue with the catalyst that occurred after Dorothy captured his spirit." Clearing her throat, she sighed softly before beginning anew, "Lady Katrina lived happily for year after year, basking in the love of her child and of her husband, comforted by his spirit.

"But as things come to pass, his spirit began to slowly fade away. As her straits were bridged and her true need for him faded into naught but a waning desire for his presence by her side, his soul began to feel the tug of the circle of spiritual energy that encases the Earth calling him to retake its place. As he saw his place by her side fading, he was slowly letting himself be pulled to where he belonged.

"His decreased activity troubled the Lady more than anyone could have anticipated. Flying into a panic, she pleaded to Dorothy to assist her in any way she could. And so Dorothy did what she thought should be done – she bound the spirit of Heero Yuy to the castle itself. She wrote in her journal which you hold in your hand that she intended to scribe the spell to be used to free his wretched soul once the Lady passed from the realm of the living so he could rejoin her in the circle of life and death that envelops all so that her children if not she herself could cast it when the time was right."

"Does that spell exist?" Quatre whispered, the slightest hint of excitement in his voice.

"No," Relena said softly, her closed eyes blocking the view of his crushed face from her vision, "it doesn't. For not even a day after she'd cast that spell and bound Heero Yuy eternally to the stones of the castle that ruled over this land, a prediction of hers was found to lack total validity. So instead of thanking her for years of servitude and praising her abilities that had so well been catered to them over her term, they accused her of practicing the Dark Arts and had her burned at the stake as a symbol the public could hate and fear for the economic hardship that was brought onto the small duchy by the fact that she'd predicted that the price of grain would be higher than it actually was that year.

"So with the passing of Dorothy Catalonia was the spell forever lost. Thus for all eternity will that peasant be bound to the castle's stones, wailing in misery and eternally searching for his lovely Katrina seeking to comfort and hold her even though she has passed on. He is unaware of the world around him and unwilling to accept the march of time that has drummed around his dream world of nightmarish memories and tortured wishes that will never see fruition."

"You said he's bound to the castle, yes? Then why is he seen in the town?"

"Because," Relena said with a carefree shrug, "it is said that his spirit gains such strength in pure desperation in his search for her that on certain nights he is able to break free of that stony prison. On the night of his wedding anniversary, on the night that first saw his spirit free of his body, and…."

"And?" Quatre whispered softly, the horrifying fact that there was a third time he could be visited before the fall of the next year outside of that haunted, ruined castle eating away at his anxious heart.

"On the night his wife Katrina was stolen from his home, he returned from the fields to find her gone. He sought her desperately in the lands that surround this village before finally interrogating his neighbors to discover that she had been taken to the castle. That night, he marched to the castle's front gates, demanding that she be released as she was rightfully his wife. That night, he was taken by the guards and thrown into the dungeons below where he stagnated and rotted in the dank pits below the castle his spirit inhabits now before they finally tried him and murdered him."

"I see…."

"That night is tonight."

Taking a deep breath, Quatre tried to bring his vision back, blinking to ward away the sudden onset of blackness that had taken his eyes.

---)))000(((---)))000(((---)))000(((---

Quatre weakly turned the doorknob and tossed the door open. "Trowa-dear, I'm home," he softly called, stepping into the dark house.

Silence met his ears.

Frowning, the blonde scoured the house to seek clues for his lover's whereabouts.

Upon finding the note taped into Trowa's private planner that he'd conveniently forgotten for the first time in his life and reading the message 'Date with Silvia: 8 PM. Be there!' Quatre hung his head and slowly left the house.

Braving the cold wind of the steadily darkening night that had met him when he'd finally come to and left the house of the kindly young woman who'd given him the journal of the duchy's soothsayer and a few herbal remedies to assist him with his panic attacks and hopefully calm the rapid decay of his condition, he hiked his collar up around his neck and faced the woods.

'He searches for her tonight, huh? First desperately seeking her over the lands around the village, then making his way to the castle….'

'He'll find me no matter what I do. Catch me by surprise like he has the last three times he's appeared.'

'Maybe this time I can catch this damned ghost by surprise. I'll meet him upon his own turf.'

Nodding once, his disjointed and completely absent logic making perfect sense at that moment in time in his scattered and befuddled brain, the blonde made his way through the grassy fields that surrounded his rented house, heading in the direction he so vaguely remembered the castle laying in.

He'd not made it three hundred feet before he'd caught the glimpse of movement to his left that denoted that he was being approached.

Turning, Quatre stared.

The pale, tall figure stared back, Prussian blue eyes shining in the bright moonlight, dark brown hair rustling in the breeze that blew through the plains to chill Quatre to the bone.

The blonde could only stare as the man in medieval peasant clothing approached him, a smile appearing upon his face even as his lips formed the work 'Katrina.'

"No…."

To Quatre's shock, the specter's next words fully met his ears, reverberating in them as firmly and realistically as any truly living being's projection of sound would.

The specter blinked a few times before bowing his head, his smile faint as he quietly said, "Your spirit has had a beautiful rebirth. Katrina, I've been searching for you for so long…."

The last thing Quatre could remember was the sensation of strong arms surrounding him, a soft voice calling his name in panic and true fear as his vision went black at his heart's solid pounding in his eardrums slowly faded to his own hearing, his extremities going numb.

"Katrina, what's wrong!"

"Katra…!"

"Quatre…!"

And Quatre knew nothing more.

tbc...