Review replies:
MikaSamu: I'm happy that you were pleased with my depictions and the last chapter! I hope it made a few things come together for you. And so, the next chapter. (rings gong)
YiyangYoung: Well, I'm running out of smiles! No demented ones, no wicked ones… what am I supposed to do? (laugh) And as for it being confusing, how do you think it is for me trying to keep the plot together? Yeesh. (grin) Well, here's another step towards pseudo-completion. Hope you like it!
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-
07:19 Hours --
Trowa narrowed his eyes as he stared at the keypad.
He was standing in the hallway of the Winner manor once more, dressed in his comfortably familiar jeans and turtleneck. The normally straight waterfall of hair that topped his head perkily stood at every imaginable angle, blocking every effort he made to see what was before him. Eyes half closed and actually showing weary annoyance with the world in general rather than emotionless blank mirrors, the servants were making certain to give this gangly, staggering, strange creature all the room he wanted as he tromped through the house in his black slippers, muttering to himself.
Lifting a hand to his face, he grabbed the hair that was splayed all over the place and giving him a look reminiscent of a poorly-woven straw hat being strapped to his head. He snorted and drew it to one side. After two more attempts to keep it under control, his stubborn mop decided to remain where he placed it, allowing him to get at least half of a decent image of the world around him.
He stared once again at the keypad.
'I don't see what's so special about this thing. It's just another locking mechanism for the door.'
The keypad shined merrily as the early morning sunlight spilled into the hallway through the large window at the end of the hallway.
Squinting, Trowa continued studying it. It appeared, in all rights and respects, to be a keypad used to code in a password that would translate to a frequency thanks to the small computer chip within the casing and the capacitors they connected to. Hit the correct frequency, electricity would flow at the correct voltage, and a small motor would run, then lever within the mechanism would trip, snapping a wire in place and hence completing the unfinished circuit all these devices held. Circuit complete, power would be sent along the lines to start the motor that resided in the door jamb that would then drag the heavy knob of metal called the deadbolt back out of the door, thereby unlocking it and allowing entry to the room beyond.
Nothing he hadn't seen before.
He glanced over his shoulder, glowering at yet another servant.
The butler hurriedly backed away, fear evident in his face. The green-eyed boy usually showed them nothing but an emotionless mask, but early in the morning, he could be a very vivid and frightening person. It seemed he was not a morning person at all.
"I already know that the door is unlocked."
"Alright, sir. Then I shall leave you to your observations, sir." Hastily bowing, the servant quickly resumed his walk down the hallway, nearly shaking in his boots.
With a sigh, Trowa turned back to the door.
'Argh. It's just like every other keypad I've seen, Quatre. What the hell am I supposed to be looking for?'
00:43 Hours, 2 Days Ago --
Trowa hissed softly as the door to his cell slid open, allowing wave upon wave of stark white light to cascade into the dingy little room. Squinting to block the majority of the harsh glare that emerged from the lamps outside of his prison den, he stared at yet another black silhouette that appeared and approached him.
'Don't tell me it's James back for more questioning,' Trowa's mind groaned.
Closing his eyes, unable to see nothing more than black on white, Trowa sighed. He wasn't certain if he could make it through another wave of that man's torture techniques.
His back still burned like fire - a sensation that was compounded by the fact that he had tight bandages wrapped about his frame and a tight shirt on. His hands, laced with tiny pinpricks, itched like crazy and were held firmly in place, apart from one another and facing away from one another so he couldn't utilize his fingers to scratch the irritation away. His legs felt like nothing more than spaghetti noodles from the numbing drugs he'd had pumped into his muscles. The front of his chest burned from the small dribbles of boiling fat and grease that were sprayed upon him. His head hurt from the pressure of the vice it'd been stuck into for the last 20 minutes of his interrogation.
'Yep. We're in bad shape here, Trowa,' his brain kindly observed. 'If that's him back for more, best just to ask for death or give everything away… remember his words? That his creative juices just weren't flowing, and he didn't have the equipment to do what he really wanted to do? Ugh.'
'And this being the result of him "going easy, because you are an ally and all," just makes me wonder what this guy's like on normal prisoners…"
'I wonder how Quatre made it through this…'
00:07 Hours, 6 Days Ago --
"Get Sargent Waverly. He should be able to offer some interesting insight on what is to be done with this irritating little captive of ours."
02:12 Hours, 5 Days Ago --
"Hm. Ah, who the hell knows with someone as odd as Waverly," the first voice continued.
"Is he even on our side? I doubt that at times. I mean, what he did to you…" Lesley cut in.
"Is acceptable."
"Eh?" both men questioned at once in reply to Quatre's stark answer.
"It was an acceptable gamble to take, considering the stakes. It was an acceptable road to travel. He did it to keep from blowing our cover, gentlemen. You should be grateful."
The unidentified man's voice growled his disapproval. "Whatever you say, man."
"Anyway," Quatre's voice began again, "We can be certain of his loyalty. I know this…."
"It's telling you that?" Lesley asked.
"… Aa."
22:52 Hours, 5 Days Ago --
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.
00:45 Hours, 2 Days Ago --
'Probably the same as I am. Quatre probably just laid in pain, recovering, until he got our escape underway.'
'Hmph. He's not as delicate as he looks…'
Lifting his gaze again, Trowa blinked rapidly, attempting to adjust his vision to see something other than black and white.
After a few moments, he was able to see the person standing before him, illuminated by the portable lamp that was set up in the center of his closed, damp cell.
His eyes roved quickly over the black matte sandals, black fishnet stockings, the ripped black short shorts with the ragged cuffs, the light azure long-sleeved dress shirt with the flared collar that billowed around the thinly framed person and tucked into the top of those shorts and the black felt choker to rest upon a thin, pale face framed by wisps of platinum hair.
"Quatre…?"
Lifting a finger before his lips to indicate his longing for silencing the mention of his name, the boy sighed and smiled. "Hai."
"What are you doing here?" Trowa asked as he struggled against pain and bonds to attempt to sit up.
"Checking on you, silly. Let me help."
Trowa relaxed slightly as Quatre eased him into a sitting position, then knelt before him on the smooth concrete. Finally turning his weary gaze to the boy, he frowned. "And you turned me in…?"
Quatre slowly leaned forward.
'Great. He's going to give me another one of those "That a question for another time" lines, isn't he?' Trowa's mind growled, right before his train of thought was completely derailed.
He felt Quatre's warm breath brushing along his cheek, progressing towards his ear.
Shivering slightly, Trowa closed his eyes as he felt the other boy's gloved hand slowly grip his shoulder.
"You were going to blow my cover, Trowa. I've been working on this operation since before the Gundams were shipped to Earth. Since H and I decided that Dekim was full of shit, and we were going to do things our way. And I'm not about to allow anyone to blow this operation. Not when I'm this close to catching him."
"Who?" Trowa whispered softly.
"Kesslinger."
"What importance is he?"
Quatre's light laughter flowed past Trowa's ear, ruffling his hair. "He's got ties with Tsuberov."
"Who is?"
"Trowa…"
"What?"
"I can't tell you everything."
"You don't trust me."
"No, it's not that. It's simply that this isn't the time or the place for it."
'Told you so,' Trowa's mind snorted.
Letting a quiet sigh pass his lips, Trowa glanced over at Quatre's face. "So why are you telling me this here and now?"
"So you understand why I had to turn you in."
"And why do you want me to understand that?"
Leaning back slightly, Quatre smiled enigmatically, folding his hands together. "Because I do. I don't want you angered with me."
Trowa simply lifted a brow.
Leaning forward again, Quatre buried his face into the crook of Trowa's neck. Suppressing shivers, Trowa had to force himself to concentrate on his ears to catch what Quatre was whispering rather than paying attention to the tickle of warm breath upon his flesh at his collarbone and the light brush of lips upon his skin.
"Go to the manor. The keypad that locks the room with my chess boards. There's a secret there. Look for it."
"And how am I supposed to esc…"
Trowa was silenced by thin fingers brushing over his lips.
"If you care to notice, your shackles are off. I believe you can take care of the ropes yourself. After I get out of here, wait about five minutes… the ventilation grill behind you is unscrewed. Go through the piping. Always hug the right wall. Xavier will be waiting for you at the other end."
Green eyes widening, he stared at Quatre.
"Yes, I already arranged it," the blond boy whispered, a faint smile crossing his face. "But one thing, Trowa…"
"Yes?"
"Watch yourself. I don't want you hurt."
"Aa. You too, Quatre."
"Of course."
And, with another quick flash of a smile, the boy was gone.
07:30 Hours --
Trowa frowned, his fingers delicately scratching his chin as he stared intently at the keypad as he'd been doing for the last ten minutes.
Kneeling, he looked at it from the bottom.
His eyes widened slightly.
A miniscule piece of white wire was visible, going from the bottom of the keypad into the wall, entwined with the red and black that he already knew from previous dealings with that particular model of keypad lock lead to the deadbolt motor.
'White wire… that's not supposed to be there.'
'Is this what he was referring to?'
Smirking, he marched down the hallway. Moments later, he returned with a toolbox
07:35 Hours --
Trowa once more was scratching his chin.
The cover to the box, the keys and the screws that held the assembly together were lying in a small guarded pile on the floor. A circuit board hung by its wires out of the box that was the disassembled remains of the keypad.
He used a thin index finger to trace the mysterious white wire to an unlinked capacitor.
'What the hell.'
Lifting the tip of his voltage meter, he touched it to the device. 'Live, eh? Let's see what happens when I kill this thing.'
Grabbing his soldering iron, he placed the hot tip to the wire and gently eased it away.
From within the room, he heard the grinding of gears and gentle tinkling sounds.
'What the hell!'
Bolting upright, he ripped the door open, and stared with unbelieving eyes.
The pyramidal chandelier that dominated the center of the room's ceiling had descended.
tbc...
