Sirens wailed, Jeeps crossing the tarmac on urgent missions as they loaded personnel and supplies into the massive plane that reclined, propellers whirling, at the end of the runway. Trask folded his arms across his chest as he watched the heavy steel truck roll slowly towards the ramp. The small cone on top of it- a precious nuclear warhead- wobbled slightly as the truck hit the ramp and moved inside the plane's belly.
Good. Trask nodded decisively and turned to his fleet of Sentinels. They knelt, silent and unmoving before him, red eyes dark and flat, their weapons primed and ready.
Good. Unbidden, his hand dropped to the Glock at his hip, switching the safety back and forth in a nervous tic. His soldiers, standing respectfully behind him, exchanged glances and moved closer.
"Tell the pilots to get ready to fly to Bayville, New York, and hold their pattern around it. They are not to drop the bomb without my orders. Inform the Sentinel commander that he is to launch Fifth Company to accompany the jet. Are the animals caged?" His voice was clipped and brisk, only the twitching of his mustache and the gleaming, fanatical light in his eyes giving away the insane, cracked soul that animated the lean body.
"Yes, sir. The mutants-" the soldier's partner elbowed him in the side, "-sorry, sir, the animals have been locked up for the night."
"Use that word again, soldier," Trask said evenly, "and you'll find yourself used in one of the experiments."
"Sir! Sir, one of the animals has escaped!" The private screamed over the roar of the accelerating jet, waving his hat frantically to catch the Commander's attention. Trask turned calmly. "Really, Private?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which one?"
"The one known as X 23, sir." With a smooth, clean movement, Trask flicked the safety off the Glock and fired three bullets, piercing the man's Kevlar body armor and tearing through the aorta. The bodyguards behind him didn't bat an eye, used to their commander's policy of dealing with failure. The man gurgled, blood pumping from the rupture with each beat of his failing heart. His legs visibly weakened, and he finally sank to the tarmac, eyes glazing.
"Find her. Bring her to me when she has been captured. Dismissed."
"Sir!" the bodyguards barked in unison, pivoting and marching off towards the dog kennels. Trask sighed. Such incompetence… Never mind that. He glanced at his watch, mustache twitching ever faster.
In three hours, twenty minutes, and fifty-five seconds, that den of iniquity known as the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children would be eliminated from the face of the earth, and the humans could reclaim their world once more.
Trask clenched his hand around the locket at his throat, thumb stroking over the lock of blonde hair kept within, bound neatly with a blue ribbon. "I will get revenge for you, Mary."
'I promise.'
"So, you're a soldier?" Remy asked, lounging in the doorway of the bathroom. The object of his affections looked up from where he was methodically emptying every bottle of alcohol down the toilet, violet eyes flashing.
"Jesus, yes, okay! Are you fucking deaf as well as stupid?" Remy said nothing. "Why're you giving up the drink?" Duo snickered hoarsely. "Zero is starting to become restless. I can't afford to have my reaction time slowed."
"Aren't you going to have withdrawal?"
"Probably. I'll deal with it; I've had worse, after all."
"Remy is curious…" Duo, finished emptying the bottles, rubbed wearily at his face and sighed, "Yeah?"
"Remy wonders if you'd spar with him, maybe?" Violet eyes flickered to him, cold and assessing. "What's in it for you? Gathering intelligence?"
"Non!" Duo smirked. "Good. I'd hate to have to kill someone so good-looking." Remy felt hope flutter in his gut; it seemed maybe his affections were reciprocated. "Come on, Cajun. Are you going to stand there like a gutted fish, or actually give me a fucking challenge?" Remy blinked as Duo slid lithely by him, a pale hand skating lightly across his chest before it was gone, secreted away in Duo's coat.
Remy followed him down to the gym, shedding his duster and hanging it from the wall. Duo shucked off his coat, baring pale arms, deceptively muscled and gleaming with pink and silver scars. Knife after knife clattered from his hidden sheaths, forming a haphazard pile on the floor. He turned to meet Remy's gaze, his eyes roaming appreciatively up and down. "Nice, Cajun. Think you might actually be a challenge." Remy smiled lopsidedly, toed off his boots, and sprang.
Duo rushed to meet him, their bodies colliding, and hands twining together, pushing as the two grappled, seeking advantage. Duo suddenly twisted, thin back sliding across Remy's chest as he crouched, wedging his shoulder into Remy's belly and heaving upward. Remy, used to this tactic, flipped in midair, striking out with his heel into his opponent's shoulder.
Duo absorbed the impact easily, letting go of Remy's hands and springing backward. The two circled each other warily for a moment, and then Duo dropped once more and leaped forward, sweeping out with his leg. Remy leaped over the kick and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him over and wrestling him onto the ground. Duo fell, hit the ground, and rolled into Remy's legs, curling an arm around his ankles and jerking them closed.
Remy fell, grasped Duo's biceps, and jerked him over, rolling on top of him and tangling his legs with Duo's, holding him down. Duo bucked experimentally underneath him (not knowing the effect the movement was having on Remy's libido) and relaxed.
"Yield," he panted. Duo shrugged. "I yield." Remy rocked back onto his heels, unaccountably disappointed that this broken, stubborn soul hadn't put up more of a fight. Duo lay placidly underneath him, and then grinned.
"So, what do you want for your trophy?"
"Trophy?" Remy echoed dumbly. Duo sighed. "Yeah, numbnuts, trophy. Aren't many who can beat me in a hand-to-hand fight, after all. So? Limited-time offer, you know. Tick-tock, tick-tock." Remy settled back, careful not to crush Duo's belly underneath his weight. Running a hand over his stubble, he thought for a moment, and then brightened.
"Remy wants a kiss." Looking down at Duo, he was surprised when Duo didn't react, and then a slow smile spread across the younger man's face. "Well, why didn't you say so?" Duo fairly purred, full lips upturned in invitation. Remy sat, frozen, for a moment, and then swiftly bent.
Carefully, he slid a hand under Duo's head, feeling the silky slide of chestnut hair across his fingers, twining his fingers in the lustrous strands. Duo reached up with a pale, long-fingered hand to cup the side of his face, palm rasping against the stubble, and curved the other hand around the back of Remy's head.
"Y'know," Duo said mischievously, "If I'd known you wanted to kiss me, I'd have done this a lot earlier." Remy leaned forward, sealed his lips on the smiling mouth, and with a deft twist and angling of heads, he was inside, licking tiny ridged teeth, rejoicing in the slick slide of tongue on tongue, the warm sunshine taste of good whiskey, metallic sorrow and blood, and the bitter tinting of mutation.
Duo's hands slid down his back, kneading at the deep grooves along his spine, nails scraping lightly. Remy hissed into Duo's wicked mouth, and Duo breathed his breath into him, an exchange of pain and understanding. Long, slender legs locked around his waist, and they were oh-so-slowly grinding together on the floor of the gym, warm electricity skittering up Remy's spine.
Remy closed his eyes against the metallic silver taint in Duo's eyes- Zero- and deepened the kiss, claiming dominance back from Duo. His lungs burned, and he drew back, opening his eyes to stare into the crystalline amethyst gaze. They said nothing for a while, and then Duo smiled.
"Want to try again? That certainly wasn't the best I've ever had." Remy growled and crashed their lips together, and now Duo responded with fervent passion, the wicked tongue darting into Remy's mouth and flickering across the inside of his lips. Blood sprang from the tiny clashes of teeth on flesh, and they swallowed each other's essences down greedily. Remy understood now; understood that Duo didn't want sweetness and light, didn't want gentle kisses and cuddling. He wanted rage and darkness, blood and fire, snarling clashes for dominance, because the pain of rage and blood could erase the profound despair inside him.
Duo made a muffled sound and jerked away, throat arching, allowing Remy to see the blood thrum through the dark veins. Breathing hard, they rested, Duo absently tracing abstract shapes at the small of Remy's back. Duo sighed, then. "That was better." The quirk of a lip. "Don't worry. You'll get plenty of chances to practice."
Wufei knelt before a tree in the small forest on the Institute grounds under a cold and clouded gray sky, sketching out kanji on the rice paper he had set before him. 'Meiran, Meiran,' his heart cried, 'Why did you leave me?' Quietly, he finished the haiku, and looked it over again.
My wife, my lover.
A sakura blossom fallen before your time.
The stars weep today.
Dipping the tip of his brush in the ink, he sketched out his name and then put his tools away briskly, fixing the paper to the ground with a rock. Turning, he picked up the samisen at his side and plucked the strings, uncaring of the few tears that escaped his rigid control.
The soft, sad strains of the Ashokan Farewell drifted through the silent forest, disturbing none. Wufei continued to play, and said calmly,
"I know you're there, Pietro." He heard snow crackle behind him but refused to turn. Anger swelled in his chest, but just as quickly was gone. Today was not a day to be angry with anyone other then himself.
The last note vibrated, quivered in his heart and head and hands, and then faded. Wufei put the samisen back in its case, and finally turned to look at Pietro. His white hair and clothes blended perfectly into the background of snow, an utter contrast to his own somber gray clothing.
Black and white facing off across a placid empty space at the end of the world. A shadow and its reflection. Wufei stared steadily into the light blue eyes, tired, tired of hate and terrible love and loss.
The eyes blinked, and Pietro spoke.
"I didn't know you were married." Wufei said nothing, unsurprised that the other mutant was able to read kanji. The man was astoundingly intelligent, able to speak so many languages as to make him feel like a child. "Yes. Her name was Meiran. She died in a battle against the forces of the ESA."
Pietro moved then, walking with quick, measured steps over to him. "I'm sure I would have liked to meet her." Wufei stared at his hands, flexing his fingers. White flame burst from his fingertips, racing along the snow-covered ground and making the earth hiss with steam. "If I had known," Wufei felt his words grow ragged, "If- if I had just known that I could do this, I could have- I could have saved them all. I could have ended the war and not ended up betraying my friends and nearly killing Heero and-"
Tears streamed, unbidden and unceasing, from his tightly clenched eyes, hands curling into fists. His eyes snapped open as he felt a cold, thin hand gently wipe away the tears freezing on his cheeks. Sky-blue eyes stared into his, and then Pietro drew him to him, arms wrapping around his thin frame.
Shadow and reflection melded. Wufei stood stiffly in the circle of Pietro's arms for a moment, and then, with a great and shuddering groan of grief and agony and bone-deep apology to Nataku, slumped forward, resting his head on Pietro's shoulder, feeling the long-delayed sobs thunder through his body.
Pietro whispered nonsensical words of comfort to him, as snow fell softly around them, water melding with the flames that shielded the two broken souls from the world around.
Heero sat on the couch with Logan, staring at the hockey game on the television without seeing it. Frivolous entertainment. The spectators seemed so joyful at seeing blood, without knowing that blood was death, seeming like spectators at gladiatorial games where men butchered and slaughtered their kindred.
"Tell me about this J guy." Heero heard the undercurrent of steel in the voice, and, hating himself for complying, obeyed.
"J was… not a evil man. He didn't treat me cruelly, or-"
"Bullshit." The tone brooked no argument. "Tell me about him, with no excuses this time." Heero stared at his hands, feeling the cold gundanium rods within them, and sighed, closing his eyes. The burly arm wrapped around his shoulders tightened, drawing him closer. Heero rested for a moment, absorbing warmth and strength from this remarkable man that seemed to have an undying supply of both.
"J took care of me since I was born. Until I was seven, I stayed with a man named Odin Lowe, who taught me to kill." His voice was bleak. "Odin and I were never friends. He was paid highly by J to prepare me to fight for the freedom of the colonies, and so he saw me as a means to gain money. One of the things J wanted me to experience was nonconsensual intercourse," 'Weak,' he thought distantly, 'You can't even say the word 'rape',' "and Odin initiated me in that, although he did not like it and only performed the duty twice." He registered Logan's unceasing growls, and said curiously,
"Why are you angry?"
"No one should have to go through that, least of all a child!" Heero opened his eyes and stared at the television once more, unseeing. "You are forgetting, Logan, that I never was a child. From the moment I was born, my life and my body were consigned to the cause of freedom. I did not know anything different. I thought that it was normal for five-year old children to know how to incapacitate grown men in thirty different ways, or to carry out assassinations. I thought that it was normal for seven-year olds to be thrown into cells with pedophiles to see whether or not they could fight back."
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed. Duo was very angry, because he wanted to kill him himself. It was good that he did not."
"Why?"
Heero smiled thinly. "Because if Duo had done so, I would have had to kill him." He shifted as Logan pulled him to straddle the older man's legs and turned him around, whiskey-brown eyes gazing into his own.
"You're safe now. You don't have to kill anyone, here." Heero let his head rest on Logan's flannel-covered shoulder, feeling the man's fingers thread gently through his hair.
"But killing is all that I can do," he whispered. Logan sighed, warm breath stirring down his neck. "I know. It's all I can do, too." Heero tightened his arms around Logan's chest, hiding his face from the world, in the only place he ever felt right.
/Promise me you'll be back soon/ Trowa's voice was plaintive, even over the phone. Quatre smiled, hefting the bags heavy with textbooks.
"Of course, love. I just need to get the textbooks for next semester's Philosophy course. Were there any books you wanted?"
/Could you get me a copy of The Lions of Al-Rassan?/
"Sure."
/I love you./
"And I, you." Quatre shut the cell phone and slipped it into his pocket, entering the bookstore. Zero murmured a low warning in his head. Quatre closed his eyes for a moment in weariness, sending a quick pulse of warning to Trowa and the others before he opened them, moving quickly into the rows of bookshelves.
Footsteps, admirably quiet (but not quiet enough to escape the notice of a Gundam pilot) followed him. Approximately five, maybe six. Quatre cursed mentally; normally he could take out all of them, but in such a closed and public space, the chances were slim. He glanced behind him, scanning past the rows of poetry to where the shadows moved swiftly.
He stepped up the pace, moving past the fantasy section and into the science. A man stepped out in front of him, dressed in black, cold, pitiless eyes roaming over him. Quatre stopped, hand going surreptiously to where he concealed his gun.
"That would be inadvisable." The voice was as cold and flat as the eyes. Quatre shrugged mentally. It didn't matter if he was captured. He had escaped much tougher opponents then these before; he could do it again.
"I don't suppose there's anything I can say in order to survive?" The man said nothing. Quatre sighed. "I figured as much." He closed his eyes as the sharp pinprick of a dart raced across his neck, feeling the burn of tranquilizers pumping through his system.
Quatre Raberba Winner, Gundam pilot and beloved of Trowa Barton, fell quietly into oblivion.
As the ragged girl named X 23 staggered, bleeding, through the snowy woods to collapse on the mansion's porch, as Quatre Winner was dragged out of the bookstore with the excuse to the cashier that he was a narcoleptic and simply needed rest, as Trowa Barton howled his anger and agony, fur slashing across his skin, as snow fell silently to the earth, the sun touched the rim of the earth and began to sink.
