"Company?" Zechs repeated that, dully, as he looked up towards that angry red orb, normally so discreet in it's corner. "Trieze, who? We have to get him and pull him in with-"
"I'm a general, not a telepath. I couldn't tell you whom specifically." He laughed again, then shook his head. "If I had to venture a guess though? Zechs… Do you truly believe that this child operated on his own?"
His soldier frowned and looked back towards the carelessly sprawled form of the boy, glowing in the fire with each rise and fall of his chest. "… No."
"I think it's someone from his team, if he has one. Or perhaps the very person who trained him. It's too soon for another random attack, so that seems most likely. Someone who knows him and knows he's here. Hopefully, it's because he's a valuable asset, and not because they worry about his silence."
It was a chilling thought and the way his lover so easily threw it out made Zechs give him a harsh, almost wounded look. "So you're leaving him out there? For whoever comes through that door, whether it's to collect him and take him from us, or to put a bullet into his head? Trieze-"
"Love, don't mistake me." He released the blonde's hand and started tugging that panel back into it's proper place. "… If he were my soldier, I could not kill him. His beauty, that's one thing, along with that rare streak of purity in a field of blood, but that child is also talented. You caught him, but I don't know if many others would. I am counting on them being aware of his value as well."
The wall was placed with a soft click, the room beyond now visible to them only through the darkened glass of the mirror on the other side. "Besides, darling, he is not ours to keep."
He was not pleased. Trieze could still read that in the sharp curve of his graceful back and the proud way Zechs' chin was lifted. Even in what would have been a compromising situation for others, nude and locked in this tiny chamber while an enemy approached, his favorite follower looked like a deity demanding full obedience. "Why not?"
"He would have given in to us, Zechs, but not in the way we wanted. Not right then. People like him react to passion, but later, the thoughts come creeping back in. You want more than his body, don't you?"
Grudgingly, Zechs nodded.
"Then it would have needed this time, anyway," Trieze said, moving over to cup one of his lover's pale cheeks comfortingly in the cup of a warm hand. "Time we don't have."
"How will we find him after though?"
"We will." The older man smiled at him, confident enough that for now, it soothed his nerves. Though he doubted anything would kill his desire to race out there and scoop up the golden haired youth, before it was too late.
"Besides," Trieze leaned in and placed a delicate kiss along the hallow of Zechs' jaw, drawing a shiver to ripple down the other man's body in spite of himself, silver blonde hair shimmering like diamonds before his half lidded eyes. "They say if you love something, you have to let it go. Open the cage and let it have it's wings. Let it taste the blue of the heavens, the sweetness of the summer of it's life… If it loves you, it'll come back to you. One way or another."
He swallowed and gave a slow nod, as his arms came to rest around Trieze's strong neck and his form slid against the other, seeking warmth and comfort. An end to this conversation.
Inwardly though, Zechs thought that Trieze was wrong. He could love this child… Enough to not want to free him, and shouldn't that be stronger than some old folk saying?
XxXxX
Wufei, much like his blonde teammate, had found entering the building to be surprisingly easy. However, unlike Quatre, that was where the simplicity of the situation stopped. There were no silent halls to greet him. Instead, there were well patrolled corridors, people around every bend, guns in every hand and sharp eyes that must have known something was up.
All of his effort to be sneaky were close calls. A slip into a door at the right time had likely saved his life more times then he cared to count. That didn't bother him. What did was the honest knowledge that part of him wanted to be discovered, so that he would have a reason to lash out and vent the aggression that was bubbling inside of him like a volcano. If he could grab a guard and plant a slippered heel into his stomach, Wufei thought he'd be feeling a little better. It was unnecessarily cruel and he knew it, but could accept it as part of his human nature. Besides, it was better to get rid of that anger before he found Quatre, wasn't it?
He knew the boy was alive. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind about that. If Quatre hadn't been recognized as the public figure he was and wasn't being used for ransom, then they'd discovered the fast mind they had within that small body and were working out ways to manipulate it. It'd been done before. If not that, then they had seen his combat tactics and were holding him to figure out who'd sent him, who'd trained him. And if not that, though he hesitated to think too heavily on the last option since it made his blood boil in his veins, then they weren't blind and had taken a good look at the delicate beauty of the Arabian.
He was alive though. One way or another.
And Wufei wanted him back.
Years ago, he would have been shocked and horrified at the idea of being attracted to a man. He'd been betrothed and it was bred in that he'd wed a woman and have a family with her. It was accepted if not smiled upon by him, certain if not liked. When that fate had become null through the intended bride's death, the lack of desire he'd felt for the situation had not changed. Woman were something expected, nothing more. They could be pretty, nice enough to look at, but that was all.
Sometimes, when the silence in his mind roared like an ocean, he wondered if his current attraction -- He refused to use Duo's word and call it a 'crush' -- could ultimately be stemmed back to the pressure he'd felt from his family so long ago. Women were tasks and a man's fate. Wufei detested that word from time to time. Fate was like a statue of iron. You couldn't move it, you couldn't even likely push it to better suit you. It just was, and everyone had to deal with it. They had to tip-toe around it. Destiny, now that had a nicer ring to it. Destiny changed according to every day actions, and often on a whim. Unlike the unmoldable 'fate', destiny was gentle but inevitable. Destiny surprised you, while fate was always there and knowing and just… Boring.
And true strength was, of course, in going against what everyone -knew- had to happen. Fighting the hellish beast of a word.
He was resentful to the future he'd never once spoken against, and then relieved when it crumbled apart before him. The woman herself had been comely enough and kind, as worthy of an opponent as a woman could be, and even now he missed the few conversations they'd been given (always under watchful chaperones), but he wasn't drawn to the marriage.
He was drawn to the small Arabian who sometimes played as their leader.
Played. Perhaps not such a good word, because Quatre was good at what he did. He made mistakes, like the human he was, but less so than most would if in his spot. He was precise and clever, and even if he hadn't been attracted to the boy, he would have been forced to respect him. He was attracted, though.
He'd felt it immediately upon meeting him. Upon seeing that unusually pale hair, like corn silk in the sun and so different than his own ebony and that of his people, and then with those large lash-lined eyes that tumbled in color as frequently as the sea had waves. That Quatre's form mirrored a woman's in some ways was a fact that didn't escape him. Rather than throw him off though, it was more fitting. To have been drawn to a man with steely muscles and cruel hands, would have been a typical protest and grotesque. It would have been something he could have forgotten and gotten over within a day. He understood himself enough to know then it could have been little more than teenaged defiance… But to be so completely capture by that tiny fey boy with his core of incomparable inner strength was damning and wonderful all at once. He would have wanted to beat a true man, to lord over him and prove his own worth through battles of strength. He would have wanted to be rough, to be bruised and form bruises, to fight and yell, and let all the aggression out into the world. A woman he would have felt the desire to protect, to keep her weaker form safe and only his. Obsession that came with every bat of her eyes and in the pouty flower of her mouth. He'd want to see her eyes light up with random words and presents, to talk softly and share moments with her, as was expected of a husband and as he'd been trained.
With Quatre, he craved both.
He wanted to break the blonde boy apart, violently shatter that oddly resilient shell, and then to put him back together with gentle hands. He wanted someone who could fight him wit to wit, and even win, and who'd still melt when presented with a card on a holiday just because he'd remembered. Who was soft as silk on the outside and in manners, and as cold and hard as iron underneath.
Quatre made him love him and hate him, and himself, and he did it the first day.
As the weeks and then months passed, it only got worse. Bad would have been coping on his own, in his silent brooding ways, worse was dealing with it when the person in question happened to be as friendly as Quatre. The blonde was there every time he turned around, smiling and offering out acts of pure, untainted kindness.
Wufei could barely catch his breath before the boy would then turn to someone else, and offer the same thing. His brief illusions of being special, one of a kind for the boy with the sunny locks, his plans and plots, were dashed away with the gentlest of unknowing brushes. It stung, and so he lashed out.
He slapped Quatre with his criticism and insults, but managed to keep his hands off that pale skin of the other man… Most of the time. He shoved him aside emotionally in the way he felt pushed back, ignored Quatre's offers if only to see that same pain he felt show up in his pretty gaze.
Soon the smiles aimed at him were more wary, the teal glowing eyes expectant of some form of abuse to be hurled his way, be is verbal or physical. It made Wufei feel ill, and made him glad. It was easier to avoid Quatre like that, and yet harder still to deny his aching emotions that he'd caused it. His affection for the other and the conflicting things he felt made seeds of self hatred blossom inside of him in some morbid garden of the heart. Better to take one side of his obsession and push it than to try to handle them both.
Cruelty didn't change his inner cravings though, to cup those round cheeks and kiss the side of an ivory neck, nor did it completely vanquish Quatre's natural inclinations to be the steady peace-maker. Still the blonde tried, and still his heart broke more and more. It brewed inside of him in a black pool.
The others and their opinions were never what made him pause in his pursuit. It was only his own coming to terms that did, and the best way to approach the situation. It was undeniable to him, that one day he should have the lovely Arabian, as soon as he'd only figured out how to go about it. And once he did, that he should keep his mate by his side. Like the bride that was never meant to be, he would guard Quatre, only this time there would be the desire to do so. Keep him safe and love him. A dragon with it's horde of precious objects… Only Wufei's treasures would be every breath that was drawn in when the boy was his. Every kiss. Each smile. And the feel of his fingers over that flesh.
Again, there were no doubts in if Quatre would or not be accepting to the relationship. Even if he hadn't seen the cheery reaction he'd given to Duo and Heero's when the damned baka had announce his accomplishment (a feat Wufei had never expected seeing accomplished) with their kamikaze friend, it would have been obvious in the way his eyes drifted on the street. Not to the fair females who eyed him and batted their lashes with such unrequited attention, but rather to whatever annoyed male was accompanying them. It showed, that preference, in his choices of everything from fashion to food, and in his very form. All that was left was a plan.
He'd still be trying to work through that angle on the day their last mission had come up, and what a failure that had been. All of the hurt in Quatre's gaze hadn't been enough to make him stop with his hateful words. Wufei would have liked to say he was cool enough to separate relationship from work and had a right to be upset with the blonde for his undeniable errors in thinking that day (he knew he did since it had jeopardized all of their lives), but that would be a lie that couldn't dismiss his aching feelings of guilt. However, his months of planning were nothing compared to the impromptu opportunity thrust his way. A distasteful one, but a chance none the less. He was needed finally.
He wanted the blonde back, and damn it, he would get him. When he did, he would first shake Quatre and demand to know what he was thinking going off on his own like this, then he'd cradle the boy and silently thank the gods that he was in one piece. After that, if Quatre had any doubts, Wufei thought there were ways he could vanquish them. And he wouldn't let go again.
His expression shone of steadfast determination as he snuck down the halls of the base, shadows playing over the white of his outfit like ying and yang and the blade of his sword a deadly star beside his stern face.
XxXxX
Through the mirror, with both of them crowded close together and holding their breath, Trieze and Zechs watched as the door to his private apartments open. They played witness to the silver that proceeded the attacker, slicing through air in a way that was almost something you heard deep within, a sinister sheering of the soul's cords of terror. A fatal cutting of hope and a slide into doom.
Not that Trieze feared for them. The room was sealed from the inside, and even if it weren't, he had items in here in which to protect himself and Zechs.
… But it made him doubt his decision involving the boy who'd briefly shown him heaven.
As he watched that shadow figure enter, he felt a cold hand run up his back and doubts speak up in a mind that had been calm. . A nagging whining voice that he'd thought died before he became a soldier. Would they send someone with that to rescue a child? A gun, he could have understood. Protection for the mission to retrieve the little blonde, but a sword? He knew from all of his practice how that weapon was and what it often stood for. Was he about to watch the fair youth be slaughter before them for information they hadn't, and likely couldn't have, gotten out of him?
Zechs must of shared the same feelings, since he make the tiniest of mournful sounds and tensed within his arms.
It was too late now to take it back though, and Trieze could only watch as the gap in the door parted more, the darkness between the hall and itself growing like a hungry maw…
And revealing something unexpected.
His mouth fell open as another child entered the room, his hands wound around the handle of that large sword. He was sleek and deadly as a panther as he crept forward, obsidian eyes darting around suspiciously and body tense. The face beneath tightly pulled black hair was unlike any Trieze could remember, almost graceful in it's exotic nature, but coldly promising, and… And furious. He moved like a killer on slippered feet and wore the mockery color of pristine purity, an angel-dressed demon of retribution, but it was a child. Far younger than himself or Zechs, for sure, yet he already appeared to be trained nearly as well.
Who taught them? Who could be so cruel and clever in their selection of soldiers? A pair of baby-faced thieves and murderers, and who had the heart to make them so? Trieze had no answers for himself, or for the questions he saw burning in Zechs' blue gaze when the blonde shifted and looked up at him. He could only shake his head and gaze back at the shadow sneaking across his room.