Mmmm. Time to respond to reviews! (cheers):
Wolfkun: (snigger) Quatre's insanity is half the fun of psychoanalyzing the character. Thank you for the compliments on my character development and flashbacks! (humble bow) It takes a lot of hard work - I've got literally pages of notes on this thing - but knowing the effort's appreciated makes it worth it.
YiyangYoung: Awww, and why shouldn't you be reading this? (laughs) I'm glad that you're continuing! And GOOD LUCK on your test! (waves pom-poms)
Rute13: Mwahahahaha! (cough, gag, choke) Nngh. Need to work on that evil cackle. :) Answers come... later! Later! (refrains from cackling) Glad you like the story! (gush)
Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.
-BEGIN FIC-
23:19 Hours --
The chilly night wind engulfed the thin boy as he roared down the dark, overgrown path.
Helmet upon his head, Trowa crouched low over the Kawasaki Ninja he'd located in the garage of the Winner manor to improve his aerodynamics. He didn't want any errant gust sending him wavering about the road. He also didn't want to be victimized by that cold wind any longer, and staying near the hot engine of the motorcycle helped keep him warm.
Flat emerald eyes kept their gaze firmly upon the road, watching carefully for rocks and other such obstructions in the short grass layer that coated what once was a dirt path. Those eyes squinted in concentration, using the faint light of the moon to pick out the details of what lay immediately before him.
He was screaming through the night without his headlights on to make tracking him more difficult. The overgrown state of the path also assured him some security from anyone who would dare attempt to track him.
Glancing up, Trowa caught site of the lights that announced the presence of the town he'd visited yesterday night. The bar in which Quatre had met that mysterious person had been located there.
Shaking his head, Trowa snorted. He had no intent of sticking around. He had no more interest in that man.
He was no longer going to be a pawn in Quatre's games.
Especially not when he'd seen what had happened to the last pawn he'd encountered.
19:58 Hours, Yesterday --
OZ soldier.
Browens.
He recognized his face from the interrogation cell.
"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.
Trowa stared at the first few letters on the page. Lifting his gun, he fired one single bullet between the man's eyes, then continued reading.
'Shoot the messenger. Proceed south on the road. Await pickup. You'll know him when you see him. Quatre.'
23:20 Hours --
Trowa swerved the bike around a large rock.
He was not going to be a pawn.
He was not going to play Quatre's sick game any longer.
Besides, he had to check on Cathy and make certain Heero was still in satisfactory condition.
21:00 Hours --
Quatre sat, his fingertips lightly pressed together, his brow slightly furrowed. In his giant plush throne-backed chair before his glass chessboard, he glanced over and smiled kindly at Duo and Trowa who were standing side by side.
"So, what's the plan? You said we were going to retrieve that damned disk tonight, neh?" Duo began.
"Hai," Quatre answered, nodding slowly. "That's why I called you in here. I need to show you what you're going to be doing."
"Cool, cool," Duo said, nodding.
Trowa simply stared, his eyes emotionless and dull as they remained fixated on the boy in the giant chair. 'I already know what you're planning, Quatre. It's obvious on your board behind you to your left. You're planning to sacrifice us, then strike from afar with Sandrock. That's why that rook is so incredibly open, and lined up to hit the Communication Tower after it 'attacks' Deathscythe. And I'm to infiltrate and retrieve the disk, just in time to draw all the attention to myself so you can save your stronger pieces.'
'That's how you played before, Quatre. I recognize that move. You used it against me in our games.'
"Duo, I want you taking Deathscythe. The infiltration and footwork is going to be covered by Trowa," Quatre started, removing pieces from the glass table, leaving only one rook in place. "This rook represents you. And these other pieces represent one score of the enemy."
The violet eyes widened as both knights, both bishops and both rooks hit the table. "Holy shit," he whispered under his breath.
"Plus we've got the communication tower to worry about. They do have the ability to call in reinforcements from the Constantinople base and get them here in practically no time flat. They've got high-speed transports already stationed at both bases for just that purpose, as they know that the Rebel Alliances' most recent strikes have been in this area."
"Crap."
"But it shouldn't be that critical of a problem. Using Deathscythe, you should be able to reach here."
All watched as Quatre's hand slowly moved the rook into the center of the board.
"This should be the center of activities so far as the Mobile Suit Squadrons are concerned. Begin your attack only once you're surrounded."
"Sounds like fucking suicide…"
"No worse than New Edwards. In fact, the number of enemies you'll be facing should be considerably lower."
"Oh, gee, that's really instilling a lot of confidence in me."
Quatre smiled slightly. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I have faith in your abilities."
Snorting, Duo grinned back. "Don't generals always say that to the soldiers they're slaughtering? Kinda like icing on the cake to get them to agree to throwing out their lives?"
"Not always!"
"Riiiiiight."
Shaking his head, Quatre focused his attention fully on Duo. "Will you do it?"
"Ah hell," Duo started, scratching the back of his head, "why the hell not? Sure. I'll do it. As long as you remember that if things get too hot, I'm running."
"Gotcha. Now, Trowa…"
Trowa stiffened.
"I want you to infiltrate the base while Duo keeps them busy on the outside."
"Aa."
"Do you want me to explain the particulars?"
"I don't need you to. I'll do things my own way."
Quatre, unexpectedly, smiled. "Good. That's what I'm counting on."
23:35 Hours --
'That's what he's counting on, eh? Hmph. I wonder if he was counting on this,' Trowa thought as he zoomed past the road that would have taken him to town, keeping his bike facing east-northeast.
'Duo hit it on the nose. Quatre's plan IS a suicide mission. Though why he would be getting rid of vital pieces 'this early in the game' is beyond me. Or maybe he doesn't view us as vital…'
Trowa scowled as he found himself glancing over his shoulder.
'Quatre… what are you doing? What are you planning?'
22:30 Hours --
Trowa stopped outside of the living room's door.
He'd heard Duo and Quatre's voices within.
Leaning casually against the corner of the entryway, he pressed his ear close to the wood and closed his eyes, listening to the conversation.
"So, what happened anyway, Quatre? You never did tell me what you were doing in town so long."
"Ah, it was really nothing much. I was simply securing a… an informant."
"Oh ho! Securing an informant, eh? What, like, getting an OZ soldier on our side?"
A few silent moments passed before Duo's voice piped back up.
"You're kidding."
"Not really," Quatre responded.
"What'd'ya fucking do to get THAT accomplished?"
"Ah aaaa! Like I'd tell you that."
"C'mon!" Duo whined. "Just a hint?"
"Nope."
"Damn you."
'Yes, damn you,' Trowa silently seethed. 'Why won't you tell us what's been going on?'
'And I thought I was the only one with such need for secrets.'
22:50 Hours --
Trowa had been silently stalked Quatre through the hallways of the manor ever since the blond boy had left the living room, leaving Duo to the TV and the candy bowl.
Trailing after him, he unwittingly followed him into his bedroom.
'Damn!' Trowa thought as he nearly panicked with the closure of the door. Hurriedly thinking, Trowa sought any available hiding place.
He found himself in the closet moments later, watching the other pilot through the cracks of the door.
And he felt himself sweating as he watched Quatre slowly peel his shirt from his body.
His thoughts, however, soon turned from the questionably lusty path they were tripping over to immediate concern. His eyes narrowed considerably as he stared at the long, angry red welts that ran over the boy's smooth pale back, accompanied by rough purple bruises and puncture wounds.
Trowa continued to stare as Quatre turned, his gaze concerned as he stared at the roughly stitched slice that ran across the small boy's stomach.
He barely remembered to back into the clothing and hide himself when Quatre ripped his closet door open.
Stilling his breathing, Trowa remained perfectly still as Quatre sorted through his shirts.
For some reason, the boy seemed to be taking an agonizingly long time attempting to choose between two nearly identical black tops.
After nearly two minutes of staring, Quatre decided upon an outfit and exited the closet, slowly closing the door to it behind him.
Trowa let his breath slowly return to his deflated lungs.
Glancing between the cracks of the closet again, Trowa attempted to watch the boy to further gain knowledge of what exactly had happened during his time with the soldiers after Trowa had been locked away.
He found himself flushed completely red and staring at the wall before him.
He'd expected Quatre to be wearing underwear….
23:45 Hours --
Trowa cursed as he felt himself blushing at the memory of infiltrating Quatre's room.
Then he felt himself pale.
The platinum-haired youth had selected clothing of questionable taste, hadn't he?
22:55 Hours --
Trowa forced his eyes to return to the room beyond the closet doors, and saw with temporary relief that Quatre had pulled pants on.
Temporary relief.
He soon found himself sweating and blushing again as he noted that the black leather pants the boy had squeezed himself into clung to his body like a second skin. They also had rather suggestive, strategically placed tears in the fine fabric and laces running up the left leg.
Trowa continued to watch, completely entranced, as Quatre pulled a black dress-shirt on and buttoned all but the top three buttons. Then he pulled on tall, heavy-toed motorcycle boots with silver buckles and laced a studded belt through the loops designated for such. Yanking on a loose-fitting leather jacket, Quatre finished the ensemble with finger-less gloves then marched over to the mirror. Ruffling his hair, he smiled at himself, his blue eyes narrowed coldly.
Trowa stared, breathless, as Quatre nodded and chuckled.
"Perfect."
'Tell me about it…'
23:46 Hours --
'He wouldn't be planning….'
'He couldn't…'
'He…'
Trowa brought the bike to a halt on the road, and looked over his shoulder in the direction he'd been riding away from so quickly but moments before.
'He wouldn't!'
A black speck zoomed into the air from the distant lump that was the Winner manor.
'Deathscythe…'
'They're on the move.'
With a soft sigh, Trowa closed his eyes.
'Quatre wouldn't…'
'But who's to really put anything beyond him?'
Trowa frowned.
'Maybe it's because…'
'Of me…'
22:30 Hours --
Duo had left the chess-room, sighing softly and stating that he needed to make certain his partner was all set to go.
Quatre turned his gaze to Trowa.
Trowa's flat green eyes stared blankly at the soft blue orbs before him.
"You're going to run, aren't you?"
"…."
"If you wish to, you may. I'll simply rearrange the plan," Quatre said, sighing softly.
"Sorry. I don't like the way you planned this game."
"That's why I didn't want to reveal anything to you…"
"You left it in the open for me to find, Quatre."
"I know. That was stupid of me, neh?"
Trowa simply nodded.
23:47 Hours--
'He would, wouldn't he?'
'He's not going to infiltrate himself…'
'He's not going to infiltrate… not how I'm thinking he's planning…'
'Well, he WON'T so long as I'm around.'
Turning the bike around on the road, Trowa gunned the engine.
His face screamed of determination as he roared down the road, headlight on this time to illuminate the soil before him. Glancing to his watch, he scowled, noting that it was nearing midnight. It was nearing the time plotted for the plan's initiation.
'I've got to catch him…'
'I've got to stop him.'
The bike roared loudly through the night.
tbc...
