Impossible

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Rambled Off by The Manwell

Book Two: PREVENTERS

Duo Maxwell

Okay, there are certain things that you expect to happen when the door control panel you've been "coaxing" into unlocking finally complies.

Sirens.

Alarms.

Frantic shouts.

Gunfire.

Trieze.

Oh, wait, wrong combat sim.

But what you don't expect is to be engulfed by boiling, retina-searing, white light just as the feverishly hot body of the person you're looking forward to killing in the imminent future falls limply against your solar plexus.

Let's just say I've had better days.

I have to bite back the string of knee-jerk obscenities that rise to the occasion as my vision goes perfectly white then perfectly black. I'm too busy to bother with my impressive assortment of expletives at the moment what with dragging Heero's body out of the path of that skin-peeling light while simultaneously groping rather forcefully at the aforementioned control panel. I'll give those colorful words their due just as soon as the schedule permits.

And then, suddenly, miraculously, the door whispers closed and the temperature stabilizes. For a long moment, I stand in the dark, blinking my watering eyes and trying not to tell myself my lack of vision is the result of me having accidentally hit a light switch in my mad scramble to get that damn door shut.

I'm not really sure how long I stand there. It feels like for-fucking-ever but it can't be more than a few minutes. And then, slowly, the shadows start coming back to me and everything turns cool and dim and grey again.

Except Heero, that is.

I grope for his pulse and the fact that I manage to wrap my hand around his neck without eliciting a reaction tells me he probably won't be walking himself out of here. Aching from the adrenaline and the mother of all migraines, I let out an explosive breath when I do feel a pulse.

Fucking hell, I'm going to kill him when he comes around.

Of course, that means I've got to get both of us out of here in our respective entireties now.

Doesn't ask for much, does he, this partner of mine?

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I kneel down under his weight and guide him over my shoulder. I stagger a bit as I straighten up.

Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.

I can already feel the flesh of my shoulder beginning to bruise under his bulk, but I'll bitch him out about it later. For now I've got slightly more urgent things to worry about.

Obviously, I'd just interrupted an attempt on Heero's life; it's a foregone conclusion that he's been made here. Now, depending on about three hundred and twelve factors, our exit from this Godforsaken facility could be scarily easy or fatal.

I know which one I prefer but I don't usually get a choice in these things. And Heero's not voicing an opinion at the moment, so...

I meet no one on the outbound trip. With every step, the knots of tension holding my joints together wind tighter and tighter. And thank God for that, otherwise I probably would have collapsed under Heero's weight.

I'm more than a little surprised that, ten minutes later, as I've just cleared the Lunar Base in a borrowed shuttle and alerted the nearest colony hospital to our arrival and Heero's condition, I'm still not breathing any easier. I'm a little puzzled by this. I mean, Heero's not flopped over my shoulder anymore so you'd think the weight would have left with him.

But it hasn't.

Frowning fiercely, I turn on the comm. and decide I'd better call work and let them know I won't be coming in today. Oh, and that Heero's mission has been scrubbed. And that Heero's injured. And that I've also just managed to commit a shitload of protocol misconducts. Oh, and let's not forget the felonies: breaking and entering, grand theft, and so on.

My hands aren't shaking as consider I dialing Wufei's line but my mouth is dry. Very dry. Which makes a twisted sort of sense if you consider the fact that my eyes are still watering like Niagara Falls.

Finally, the expletives I'd put on hold insist on having their fifteen seconds of fame. Even though it ends up being more like fifteen minutes.

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it damn it!

And in the midst of my near-violent emoting a vast, dark space opens inside me and four little, soul-shaking words echo out:

What have I done?

I'm pretty sure I've saved Heero's life by way of pure, sad-bastard, dumb luck.

But "pretty sure" doesn't cut it in a business that deals in hard facts. And it's certainly never cut it in the Preventers.

But it's a little late for that now.

I glace at Heero. Maybe I'm hoping for some reassurance or a Plan B or something. Instead, I end up staring at his molted, peeling skin... what I can see of it through my reflexive tears and around his clothes anyway. Damn, but he looks so young and lost and... broken.

And suddenly, making that call to Wufei becomes difficult for a whole different set of reasons. And no, I don't want to talk about it, thanks.