Wake in the Dream (5/5)

by Anne

Ratings/warnings: OK (Oz/Kiwi spelling/grammar etc) – PG13 – angst, drama, action.

Pairings: 3x4, 1x2, 5xR

Summary: Past and present merge after Quatre is kidnapped. Can his friends rescue him in time?

Archive: http/ dryerspace dot fanworkrecs dot com

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.

Author's notes: This is written for the 10 year anniversary contest at Gundam Wing Universe - http/

Thanks to: haraamis and Bast for beta reading, Misanagi for prodding for more as I was writing. Plus all those who made comments and encouraged along the way. You know who you are…

Comments to: anne at fanwork recs dot com

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Quatre opened his eyes and groaned. He had a terrible headache, and he felt tired. So very tired. He closed his eyes again, hoping that it would help.

Someone moved against him, a hand tightening around his own, and he instinctively squeezed back. "It's okay, Trowa," Quatre whispered, moving his other hand to stroke his friend's hair. He didn't have to see to know where Trowa was - he could feel his breath warm against his neck – or to know that Trowa was there. His empathic signature was intertwined with Quatre's own and Quatre didn't want to imagine being without it.

That was odd. Quatre pulled at whatever prevented his hand from going further and muttered under his breath. He forced himself to open his eyes and focus on his surroundings. They'd won the battle. Heero had prevented Libra from falling. Why would he be restrained? It didn't make sense.

The room didn't look right. This wasn't Peacemillion. Quatre tried to ignore his rising panic. Where was he? What the hell was going on? He was about to shake Trowa, to tell him to wake up, but stopped.

"Get a grip, Winner," he muttered. He was a Gundam pilot, he shouldn't be reacting like this. If the enemy had them, he would be playing straight into their hands by not staying calm. Quatre pulled at his restraint again, the long plastic tubing jerking against the needle inserted into the back of his hand.

Memories flooded his mind, and for a brief moment he was drowning in them again. He'd been drugged and restrained, relived his past, forced to remember what he'd spent ten years trying to forget.

The last thing he remembered was that final battle for Libra. Trowa had helped him from his Gundam, but Quatre had already been bleeding for too long. He'd tried to hang on, to stay conscious long enough to fight but by the time victory was theirs, he had lost too much blood.

He glanced down at his side, shifted the shirt of the pajamas someone had dressed him in, but there was no blood, just the scar he had carried for the past ten years. Had it just been part of the dream? Trowa had been there, but then Trowa was always in his dreams, in his memories. He was Quatre's life-line, his anchor. Trowa's presence illuminated the path between darkness and light.

Life and death.

Dream and reality.

They had merged into one, and he still wasn't sure where he was. Caught up in the dreamscape, finally awake, or trapped in a weird mixture of the two? The memories had been so real, yet he hadn't be able to change anything that had happened, just observe and watch himself and those he cared about repeat their mistakes in full horrific detail.

Coming to a decision, he leaned over and whispered in Trowa's ear. "Trowa, wake up." Quatre had done this before, had woken in a hospital room with Trowa curled around him asleep. But this time the room looked different, and Trowa appeared to be in his mid twenties, rather than the teenager of Quatre's dreams. Those facts gave him hope.

"Quatre?" Trowa's initial grogginess disappeared quickly to be replaced by a smile of relief. "You're awake," he whispered, "you're awake." Trowa put his arms around Quatre and held him tightly, kissing him on the cheek, on the forehead, on the lips. He was shaking. "I thought I'd lost you."

Quatre put his finger to Trowa's lips and then replaced it with his mouth, kissing him thoroughly. Trowa responded in kind, threading his fingers through Quatre's hair. The kiss was desperate rather than romantic, a seeking of truth, a confirmation of reality. When they finally pulled apart, Trowa placed his hand on Quatre's heart. "This is real. I'm real. Don't worry, you're home."

"How did you know?" Quatre attempted to pull himself into a sitting position, but Trowa shook his head and lowered Quatre back onto the pillow.

"I know you," Trowa said. His smile had a tinge of sadness to it, and Quatre wondered what he was missing. "I love you." He ruffled Quatre's hair. He met Quatre's eyes and seemed to be searching for something. Quatre hoped it was something he could give.

"Love you too," Quatre murmured, not liking Trowa's frown. "What happened?" He pointed to the drip. "I don't remember much, and what I do remember…" His voice trailed off and he shivered.

Trowa was quiet for a moment. "Those men who kidnapped you stole some experimental drugs." He paused. Quatre winced, feeling his pain and knowing that he was, in some way, responsible. "They had no idea what they had taken." Trowa shook his head. He was angry. "They could have killed you. Hell, they nearly did."

"What kind of experimental drugs?" Quatre squeezed Trowa's hand; his husband wasn't doing a very good job in hiding or controlling his emotions.

When Trowa spoke it was in a firm tone, but his voice still shook. "The lab they were stolen from…" He swallowed. "The drugs were designed to enhance a newtype's abilities, but there was a flaw." Trowa stroked the back of Quatre's hand; his expression was grim.

"Flaw?" Quatre decided to query one thing at a time. How had these people known he was a newtype? Trowa had said that his captors had no idea what they had taken, but Quatre didn't believe in coincidences. He still didn't know why he had been targeted, but he had presumed it was either because of his position with WEI, his wealth, or his past as a Gundam pilot.

"So far their subjects have all died within thirty six hours," Trowa explained quietly. "You were very lucky."

"I don't believe in luck," Quatre was already several steps ahead, trying to put together the pieces of an incomplete puzzle. While he had been trapped in that nightmare, he had been constantly reaching out for Trowa, sensing him on the edge of his awareness. Quatre had not been alone, Trowa had been part of his memories, searching for him, knowing what…

Quatre stopped, his thoughts derailing with a sudden certainty. "You knew," he said. "It wasn't just that you know /me/. You knew where I was, what I was experiencing." He tried to sound calm but couldn't prevent the hint of accusation slipping into his voice.

Before Trowa could answer, there was a knock at the door. Duo entered without waiting for an answer, a cup of coffee in one hand. "Sleeping Beauty awakes," he said with a grin. "You had us all worried, Cat." Duo gave Trowa a nudge and handed him the coffee. "You guys need to talk; I'll see if I can hold off the medical staff for a while to give you some space, okay?"

"That would be appreciated, thank you, Duo." Trowa took a sip of his coffee then pulled a face. "You forgot the sugar," he complained.

"Did I?" Duo never had been any good at feigning innocence, at least from Quatre's point of view. Of course, Duo figured that was because it took an expert to know an expert, but Quatre had merely snorted at that theory.

"Yes, you did." Trowa glared at him. Duo and Trowa had a long running argument that Trowa was too fond of sugar, and that it ruined the taste of most drinks. Duo refused to add it whenever he made coffee, and Trowa always complained about it. Quatre grinned. Yes, this was most definitely reality. His lover and their friends had developed a few quirks over the years, some amusing, some as annoying as hell.

Duo raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oops," he said. "I'm going to give your man a hug, and then I'm out of here." Duo grinned. "Before you run out of ammo."

"I don't run out of ammo anymore, Duo." Trowa snorted.

"No, he certainly doesn't." Quatre smirked. "I can vouch for that."

"Thanks, Cat," Duo said. "Nice to know this hasn't affected your inner pervert." He leaned over the bed, ignoring the look Trowa was giving him. Duo took a certain degree of delight in teasing Trowa, and Quatre didn't have the heart to tell him that Trowa only played along because he knew Duo enjoyed it.

Quatre leaned into Duo's embrace. "Love you too," he murmured.

"Talk to Trowa," Duo whispered into his ear. "He's been through hell." Duo's tone grew serious after he pulled away. "Heero's been doing more hacking." He glanced between them. "Wufei figures one of the reasons Quatre survived this was because this empathic shit goes both ways between you two. He's going to talk to you about it later, when you've both had time to recover properly. Listen to him, okay?"

"Okay," said Quatre, with no intention of doing so until he found out just what Duo was referring to. Quatre watched Trowa's reaction carefully, sending out tendrils along their empathic connection in order to gauge his husband's reaction more fully. Trowa looked tired, his eyes were red, his clothing rumpled. There was a slight stubble on his chin and he didn't appear to have shaved for at least a couple of days.

"Okay." Trowa echoed Quatre's words, forcing a smile. "I'll let you know when we're ready for the doctors. Thank you." He drained his cup and handed it back to Duo. "For the coffee too."

"Anytime," Duo said, giving them both a wave, his mood changing to something lighter as though he had flicked an invisible switch. Quatre would talk to him properly later, but for the moment his concern was for Trowa.

"Duo?" Quatre remembered the exact wording of what Duo had said.

"Yeah?" Duo turned at the doorway to the room.

"Wufei's theory. What was the other reason he thought I survived?"

"We're Gundam pilots." Duo shrugged. "Our reactions aren't the norm, especially where drugs are concerned. Hey, it's just a theory, but so is all of this for now. Until you guys are ready to do something further, that's all we've got." He opened the door. "One thing at a time, yeah? Sort yourselves out, then we'll discuss sorting out the rest of this crap. If you need us, we'll be there."

"Thank you," said Quatre quietly. They were family, each supporting the others when needed. That was the way it had been since the war, and the way it would always be.

"Anytime," Duo replied, and then he was gone.

"You knew what I was going through, didn't you?" Quatre gestured for Trowa to move closer.

"We can discuss that later," Trowa placed his arms around Quatre and leaned back on the pillows with him. "There's something else I want to say, need to say first."

Quatre sighed. He knew that he wouldn't like whatever it was Trowa wanted to say, but if it was important, he would listen. He owed Trowa that much. It didn't mean that he wouldn't get an answer to his question though. Trowa might be stubborn, but Quatre had never let that stand in his way. Their relationship was based on give and take. This time Quatre would give, but next time it would be Trowa's turn.

"We need to reassess our priorities in life." Trowa's voice was firm, but Quatre could feel his concern. "Or, more to the point, you need to take a break. A long break."

"I have responsibilities," Quatre said quietly. A holiday at the moment, although tempting, was quite out of the question. People relied on him to keep things running smoothly. He had spent too much time, too much energy trying to coax his father's firm into the future, a future his father would have been proud of. They were achieving great things, changing the world without having to shed blood to do so.

"You need to stop fighting." Trowa grasped Quatre's chin between his fingers and forced Quatre to look at him. Quatre tried to turn away, but Trowa wouldn't let him.

"The war is over." Quatre tried to keep his voice low. "I'm not fighting anymore. I'm working towards a better future. We've talked about this before."

Trowa shook his head. "You've never left the war behind. You're still fighting, not with Gundams, but still fighting." His eyes were cold, yet sad. Quatre rubbed absently at his chest. "Think about it, Quatre. Why did those drugs trigger memories of the war? Why not something else?"

"Because I can't forget." Quatre mumbled the words, not wanting to admit to them. "They won't let me forget. I have to fight to make things right. Blood isn't the answer, war isn't the answer." He needed to believe that they weren't the answer, that there were other more peaceful ways of achieving what needed to be done. Relena was sure there were, Quatre agreed in principle, but watching the way the political situation was slipping back slowly but surely towards what they had tried to prevent, he couldn't rid himself of his doubts.

Trowa caught Quatre's hand mid motion, their joined hands paused over Quatre's heart. "Part of you doesn't want to forget." Trowa's voice wasn't as firm as it had been. "It drives you, it always has. You're burying yourself in your work, trying to make up for the mistakes you've made." He grew very quiet, and Quatre shivered. "I've been watching you for the past few months. You're tired, you have no time for the things that used to bring you joy, and when you sleep, your dreams aren't pleasant. These drugs might have triggered memories, but those memories are never very far away from you. The drugs just made it more difficult for you to hide from them."

"I don't hide," Quatre protested. "I'm not a coward. I know I've made mistakes. I've never said I didn't."

"You've done a lot of good things too." Trowa managed a small smile. "But it's time to let things go and look after yourself for a change. Look after us." He ran the fingers of his free hand through Quatre's hair. Trowa had always had a thing for Quatre's hair. "We've already saved the world and the colonies once. We almost lost each other forever in the process." There was a moment's silence. "And I'll be damned if I'm prepared to go through it again."

Quatre opened his mouth to speak but Trowa shook his head. "I haven't finished yet," he said. "I've been quiet for way too long, and you're not going to interrupt me until I'm done." Quatre stared at him for a moment then nodded. Trowa very rarely spoke like this, but when he did it was important to listen.

"You're not the only one with nightmares. I relive pieces of my past as well." Trowa stroked Quatre's hand. Quatre wasn't sure his husband was even aware of what he was doing. He seemed as lost in memories as Quatre had been during the past few days. "You dream about ZERO, about your father's death. I dream about Libra. I know you are in trouble, and I can't get to you in time. I look for you, feel you calling me, yet I'm always too late. You're injured, yet you tell me not to worry. We fight, win the battle. I go to Sandrock, and you're lying there, still." Trowa took a deep breath. Quatre could feel the pain it was costing him to put this into words. "Lifeless. All that blood. I vowed that I would never spend another night watching you in a hospital bed like that again."

"I'm sorry." Quatre wasn't sure what else to say. He might have relived his nightmares over the past few days, but at least it had been as part of a drug induced dream landscape. Trowa had been forced to face his fears in reality.

"This wasn't your fault." Trowa sighed. "You can't blame yourself for the idiots who put you through this." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "We both have things in our pasts we need to come to terms with, and we've always been stronger together than apart. I don't want us to be apart, Quatre. I love you."

"I don't want us to be apart either, Trowa." Quatre stared into Trowa's eyes, seeing an echo of himself reflected there. "I'm sorry. I guess I haven't dealt with life as well as I'd thought I'd had."

"Neither of us is perfect, Cat," Trowa said. "But together, maybe we have a chance of dealing with what we can't alone. I'm not prepared to watch you destroy yourself. I thought that if I left you to deal with it, you would in time. I was wrong." Trowa shrugged, but the action didn't reflect his frustration.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said again, knowing how lame it sounded.

"Don't say you're sorry unless you're prepared to do something about it." Trowa frowned. "Wufei said that talking wasn't the risk, action is. I can't keep going on words, on spoken apologies. I've chosen the path I want to take." Quatre could feel Trowa's fear. It was laced with a hope that Quatre knew he would not forgive himself for shattering. "You need to do the same."

Quatre took a few moments before answering. "I can't promise to be able to do what you're asking." He couldn't look at Trowa, feeling his reaction hurt enough. "But," Quatre continued, "I can promise to try." He licked his lips. They were dry.

"That's all I'm asking," Trowa said, relief flooding their empathic link. "Action, not words. If we fail, we get back on and try again until we get it right, however long it takes. I don't want to go back to watching you destroy yourself. I refuse to do that."

"I wouldn't want you to," Quatre said softly. He leaned over and kissed Trowa gently. "During the last few days I've relived my past. It was a reminder of my mistakes. Maybe it's a chance to learn and move forward?" What he had been doing wasn't working, it was time to try something else. Quatre had told his father that running away wasn't the answer, and yet on many levels it was what he was still doing himself.

"I'd like that." Trowa returned the kiss and put his arms around Quatre, holding him close. "Happy Anniversary."

Quatre smiled at him. It was ten years today that they had first met, Gundam pilots fighting so that others didn't have to. Now it was time for them to stop fighting, to find their own peace. "Happy Anniversary, Trowa."

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Fin