DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. I am simply an E5 in the USN, and thus have no money. So ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

I am never enough, I am the forgotten child
and I said I wanna fill you up, I wanna break you, I wanna give you up
from one another, no one should ever come
in between us, between us and our love

X.Y.U.

-- 21:51 --

The wind whistled through the car's passenger compartment.

It was biting cold, sinking invisible fangs into the flesh of the two persons who sat in the plush gray leather seats of the once pristine white Mercedes. Lashing without mercy, that chill air latched icy fingers to skin, nibbling teasingly over any exposed surfaces, slipping coyly underneath clothing to brush its slithering tentacles over already shivering bodies. Its voice howled without mercy, drowning out any sound the night could have attempted to offer to the vehicle's passengers, decimating the silence that would have reigned supreme in the high-quality car's insulated and sound-dampened interior with the demolished state of the radio that once sprawled majestically over the creatively molded cockpit-styled dashboard. Sliding through the remains of the rapidly driven car, it slunk through holes in that once pristine dash, forcing the shredded material to flap loudly and add its dissatisfaction with its current condition to the loud wind's banshee screams even as the fluttering of tattered chair-coating leather beat like the flapping of fleeing birds' wings.

There was nothing that either person within the car could do to ward off the night's air or chase off the racket caused by the dark desert's chill breeze. The heater simply did not have the capability to keep up with the influx of chilly air that blasted into the car, and there were no longer any windows available to ward against its constant invasion.

Trowa was almost thankful for the cold temperature of the air. Though irritating with its chill and aggravating with its ability to slap his hair before his eyes with every breathy gust through his space, it was enough to keep him awake and aware now that the pumping adrenaline that had kept him going since early that afternoon was seeping out of his bloodstream.

He needed to stay conscious and completely aware, even without the stimulation of caffeine flowing through his veins. He needed to be alert, especially when driving at the speed he was traveling at down a desolate freeway without any street lamps to illuminate the cracked and sun-battered pavement, staring into darkness with glazed eyes without the aid of headlights to light his way.

Trowa no longer knew where they were going. All he knew was that they were apparently free of their pursuit for the moment.

And he knew that Quatre was at his side, the Kahr Arms K9 pistol that Trowa had rescued from the previous Mercedes he'd had the opportunity to drive before turning that destroyed car in to be lovingly restored and lavished over currently resting at his feet and nearly depleted of ammunition, cradling his right arm protectively. The stitches Trowa had so carefully threaded into the pale flesh of that arm's shoulder had long since ripped loose; the wound had begun to seep its last as a fresh scab was forming to ward against inevitable infection.

"Where're we going to go now?" Quatre softly questioned, his eyes as dark as the desert's night sky staying focused completely upon the black freeway before them, his pale face nearly aglow with its ghastly lack of coloration in the white rays cast by the barely present crescent moon that dangled among the brilliant stars.

"Don't know," Trowa quietly answered, shaking his head very slightly. "I think we lost them, though."

'If only I knew. Can't be certain that my stunt was enough to completely throw our pursuit. For all we know, they could be hiding ahead, having taken some back road I don't know about.'

'We can't go back to my old hotel. We can't go back to Quatre's old hotel. We can't leave for space – they'd certainly have every space port between this ocean and the Atlantic monitored, waiting for us to try and run home.'

'Where to go, indeed….'

"We should go back to the hotel."

"Are you insane?" Trowa asked, arching a brow over a disbelieving eye. "Or are you joking?"

"No and no," Quatre said with a snort. "I'm thinking we should go get those weapons we have stashed there, if our enemies haven't already absconded with them. They should rightly be there; we were so quickly pursued that I doubt they had any time to raid the room."

Trowa froze for a moment. 'That's right,' his brain kindly reminded him, ' we've got that fucking armory in that hotel room. Those weapons. Real, capable weapons. The weapons of a professional assassin, correctly outfitted and coming with enough ammunition provided in those duffle bags in the closet to take out a small regiment.'

'Definitely useful firepower for whoever gets their hands on them.'

Quatre's voice interrupted Trowa's thoughts with a chipper, "Plus James would be a bit peeved if he found his collection gone when he gets back."

"You think so?" Trowa asked inaudibly.

"Yep."

"You think he'll be coming back?" Trowa pushed. "It's been over a week since we've heard from him. He should have contacted you by now, as you ceaselessly remind me."

"I know," Quatre said with a nod, "that he's late in contacting me. And I know that can only spell trouble, because he's about the most punctual person I've ever met. However, I have faith in him. And I think that while he might not be in the best of situations, he's alive and doing what he can."

"Why do you say this?"

Quatre sighed quietly, slowly shaking his head. "Duo."

Trowa blinked. "Duo?" he repeated, his voice flooded with confusion.

"Why would he have been here, ready to go, ready for action?"

Trowa pondered that for a moment, a little frown spreading over his night-darkened lips.

"He was informed. He was told to be here. And I wasn't the one to call and ask for help." Quatre let another sigh burst from his lips. "Duo stalks me constantly, but he shouldn't have been able to pinpoint your location like he did. He should have been further west, looking for me in the Los Angeles area. The fact that he popped up in Fresno points to what must be the truth – he was tipped off by an outside source."

"You think he's the culprit in getting Duo into this fiasco?"

Quatre nodded, his motion all but invisible in the darkness that engulfed the vehicle. "I can almost guarantee it. Been giving it a bit of thought lately. He probably used a voice coder to mimic my voice. Fooled Duo into coming down here to help, because he's being kept away. Interfering idiot."

"Why Duo, though?" Trowa quietly pondered.

"Because he'd be in the area. And because James knows that Duo's competent, intelligent, and quick to quite accidentally conform to a well-developed plan."

"And you're certain it was Mr. Waverly?"

"As certain as I can be of anything, actually. It's one of the very few things I'm almost positive about in this entire scheme," Quatre huffed, closing his eyes even as he slowly pulled his hand away from his shoulder to wipe the ruby moisture that had gathered upon his palm from what had soaked through his shirt off upon his soft black slacks.

Trowa simply focused on the road, slowing and nearly stopping in the passing lane before swinging the battered vehicle through the dusty center divider of the freeway and beginning to drive back in the direction they'd just fled from, even as Quatre shook his head helplessly, hopelessly. "I hope you're right about him," the car's driver quietly offered, his monotone voice soft and as comforting as he could manage through his stressed concentration on the road and their surroundings.

"Thought you wanted him dead?" Quatre asked cheerfully.

"I do. But he's an ally right now."

Silence flowed from the car's passengers, allowing the wind to once more sound unchallenged for a few moments until Trowa chose to break it again.

"And if today's told me anything, it's that we need as many allies as we can get our hands on."

Quatre huffed quietly. "I disagree. More allies means more people being forced to take unnecessary risks. There isn't a guarantee of life and success with numbers, Trowa. However, allies of his capabilities are hard to come by – and those are the types of allies that are needed at this time."

As the wind's moaning smothered the car once more, both occupants sank into their own thoughts and worries.

The car's humming engine was almost soothing as it powered them back towards Barstow.

-- 12:30 --

Trowa stared intently at the microwave, watching with intrigued eyes as his small plastic bowl slowly spun in circles upon the rotating tray within the machine's confines, his water slowly being brought to a simmer for his Easy Mac. Listening to the vague chatter of the news emerging from the television behind him, he refused to turn his focus – indeed, all that was being put out was how the recent merger between Winner Industries and Heverworth Electrical had caused the already outrageously lucrative L4 stock to skyrocket to new highs never before seen in After Colony history. Trowa didn't need to look to know that Quatre was bouncing on the bed damned near clapping and cheering in glee.

As the microwave beeped, he pulled his bowl out of it and ripped the noodle package he'd left sitting atop the microwave oven open along its perforated seam with his teeth. Dumping his dehydrated pasta into his bowl, he stirred it vigorously and walked to the edge of the bed, facing the blonde. "Doing well, I hear."

"Amazingly so," Quatre said with a bright smile. "Larry pulls off miracles at times. First getting us a new rental car with no questions asked, and now this merger. I've got to give that man a raise when I get back to the colonies."

"Larry?" Trowa questioned, even as he sat down beside the blonde without losing momentum with his spoon, turning the noodles over and over in the steaming water he'd just prepared for them to bathe in.

"Aa. My best lawyer. Head of Winner Industries Legal Department, actually."

"Sounds like a scary man," Trowa murmured even as he pulled the cheese sauce package free of his jeans' back pocket, ripped it open with his teeth as he'd done to the casing for his noodles, and dumped its contents into his bowl before resuming his mixing.

"He's not frightening at all. He's just a very capable lawyer."

"That's what I mean. Kathy's got a million jokes about lawyers and how evil they are."

Quatre laughed softly, picking up the remote that sat next to him and flicking the channel. "Just because he's capable doesn't mean he's evil. Lawyers only do their jobs. They're not any more or less evil than a soldier acting on his orders."

Trowa nodded before lifting a spoonful of his finished culinary masterpiece to his lips and munching happily on it, resisting a wide grin as Quatre flicked the channel to ESPN.

"What'll we bet this time?" Quatre brightly chirped, smiling at the taller boy seated beside him. "Last time it was television privileges until the next game."

"Don't remind me," Trowa softly grunted past his spoon. "It's been a painful week."

"Stock reports and Earth Sphere news aren't that dull, Trowa."

"…."

Quatre laughed helplessly. "Alright, maybe they are if they're not the focus of your everyday life. Fine, I concede."

"Driving privileges."

Quatre blinked once, then twice. "Nani?"

"We'll bet driving privileges. Whoever wins drives both vehicles exclusively until the next game."

A smile twisted the blonde's lips as he nodded. "I'll agree to that. Sox to win."

"Fine," Trowa agreed, gripping his microwavable Ziploc bowl in his off-hand and clamping his teeth down onto his plastic spoon to free his other hand for the sealing shake between betting partners.

As Quatre's slender fingers encased his own, his pale palm pressed to Trowa's hand, the tanned digits slowly collapsing around the seemingly fragile, delicate limb, the ex-pilot of Heavyarms barely repressed a sigh of pleasure. 'So very soft, so utterly perfect, so deceivingly frail with so much buried strength. Even his hand reflects the whole. And I'm holding it.'

Trowa didn't fail to recognize that Quatre's hand made no immediate effort to complete their handshake and remove itself from his grasp, instead lingering upon his senses and tingling along his flesh with nearly electrical, excited energy.

As the smaller boy removed his hand from that of the sun-darkened adolescent, Trowa turned his stare to his blessed fingers.

Setting his bowl down upon the comforter at his side, Trowa promptly laced his hands together, sharing the brilliant sensation just experienced between them to keep the other from being deprived. He let the smallest of smiles turn the corners of his lips even as his emerald gaze found the television set.

Quatre leaned over, laying his blonde-topped head lightly upon a strong shoulder, calmly watching the baseball game roll into action, his attitude one of calm and collection even as Trowa's was while he stared with reserved excitement at the flickering images sprawled across the television screen.

They remained like that until the hotel room's front window shattered.

-- 23:07 --

Trowa carefully edged towards the door, his back firmly pressed against the hard wood barrier to utilize the slight protection it offered against any impending attack. His exterior remaining completely calm, the ex-pilot snarled mentally.

'Return to the hotel, he says. Right to where his enemies could be waiting for us, laying in ambush.'

'This wall would really do nothing to protect me. It's nothing more than thin drywall with crappy peeling paint on one side and worn oaken siding on the other for appearances. A .22 could go right through this. A .357, easily. And if whoever's laying in waiting for me on the other side of this wall bothered loading those guns inside of that hotel room….'

'Got to remain silent. Got to make certain they can't pinpoint my location on this side of the wall with my racket.'

Venturing one quick glance at the blonde who remained in the car, he nodded once in response to Quatre's encouraging gestures that conveyed he'd seen no one within the damaged room's interior through the shattered window's remains.

'Quatre's thinking it's clear? Best to be careful.'

'Last time I failed to take care, I ended up with broken ribs laying on a cold concrete floor in a cell.'

Reaching the doorjamb, Trowa shifted his weight slightly, resting the majority of his scant mass upon his leading foot. Emerald eyes narrowed, he quickly studied the barrier that rested between him and whatever might be waiting for him within the dark hotel room's intimidating interior.

The door creaked softly as a quiet breeze whistled past, pressing itself with the tenderness of a lover's lips upon the damaged wooden slab, sliding around its opened edges and temporarily filling the deep indentation it had recently received to mar its questionable perfection from being kicked in by unnamed assailants. Trowa stiffened as the noise touched his ears, every last nerve tingling with hinted danger.

Trowa reached with his off-hand for the door, shifting his weight just the slightest bit forward on his leading foot. Nudging the crookedly hanging slab of wood, he pressed it away with the barest tips of his fingers.

His pistol's barrel led him into the room.

Stepping lightly upon the balls of his feet, every nerve within him wired and tingling with anticipation of ambush, he let his gun lead his gaze and viewed his disarrayed room along the small pistol's sites, letting the blade that erupted from the gun's muzzle and the bar-dot rear site shadow all he stared at, the floating round orb that topped the rear site sitting with eerie steadiness atop the vision of the front blade.

It wasn't the dark environ of the room or its pitiful state that had him so on edge. It was the unnerving fact that he had only two bullets remaining in the gun including the one already in the chamber that had him fidgeting at every small scraping sound that met his ears.

'The seven shot Kahr Arms K9. The most pathetic 9mm shooter I could have possibly chosen out of the conglomeration of weapons I had available to me, and it has to be the one I have on me. Damned sad little gun.'

'Meaning that if anyone does attack, I'll have to be incredibly accurate. It doesn't do nearly enough per shot to be able to fire one of my two bullets anywhere and hope for the best. This isn't exactly a Desert Eagle in my hands.'

'Hell, this isn't even my Derringer in my hands. Even that stupid little revolver has more capacity than this thing.'

'What a cheap piece of junk, especially compared to what we're after. No wonder that asshole felt no pain in giving it to me.'

Trowa almost jumped out of his skin as he heard a bright voice chirp, "All clear. Let's get what we need and run, neh?"

Quickly pointing the small pistol's barrel to the ground, he glowered over his shoulder as fiercely as he could bring himself to. "Please, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Complain later. Let's get those guns now," Quatre said, his voice dropping instantly from jest into the flat seriousness of the businessman he was when stressed. Marching straight past his partner, the blonde swiftly grabbed the nearest briefcase in which he knew was stored one of his accomplice's potent tools.

Without voicing any complaints, Trowa joined his companion in the daunting task of loading everything that remained in the room into the Mercedes' trunk. "You realize we should get another car," Trowa muttered as he loaded gun after gun, box of ammunition after box of ammunition in the bullet-riddled compartment.

"Yeah, I do," Quatre grumbled. "Larry's going to hate me for this. Two days, two cars. I've got quite a track record against me, neh?"

Trowa smiled despite himself.

-- 12:58 --

The window exploded.

A squawk of shock escaped the blonde as he slid right off the end of the bed and hastily covered his head with his arms, trying to shield himself from whatever it might have been that caused the startling disturbance. Trowa fell right on top of him, instincts dropping him out of the range of whatever was coming for him even as his mind drove him to protect his friend, covering Quatre's slender frame with his own. His hand flailed for a moment at his waistband, gripping for what wasn't there.

'Damn it! What was I thinking, sitting around without a gun right on my person while I knew this kind of thing could happen at any time!'

'Because, silly. You'd been fooled by the relative peace we'd been experiencing for the last couple of days. You'd been fooled into thinking that we'd escaped whoever was after Quatre, and that we'd be able to just spend the rest of our time sitting here in safety without a threat within a hundred miles of us. You were sucked into the dream, even if it was only for a couple of days.'

'I let my guard slip because I believed that we'd finally found a touch of real peace.'

'I'd started doing what I wish to do – relax from being a soldier and living as a normal person.'

'That's the lull that's affected everyone and left us so unprepared for what's going on nowadays.'

'It's just like he said.'

-- 08:04, 10 Days Ago --

"A day in the sun without any worries in the world – it's almost enough to make a person believe that the memories of our recent 'peace' are something that are actually tangible."

"You mean the peace that never had a chance of lasting?" Trowa asked, glancing enviously at his partner, noting that the large, baggy orange shorts that doubled as swim trunks James wore looked a few thousand times more comfortable than the white jeans he wore would be in a few hours given the already impending heat that radiated onto the coastline.

"I mean the peace that never was," James clarified even as he began to slather the first of many coats of sunscreen onto his already darkly tanned body, taking care to get his cheeks and his nose as he began to walk towards the beach, weaving through the cars that filled the parking lot.

"We've had peace," Trowa said with a frown, doggedly following at James' heels as they made their way through the gathered vehicles. Swinging to his right, he narrowly avoided running into the breaker wall that ran along the edge of the parking lot to separate it from the sands of the beaches and keep them from filling the spaces reserved for the vehicles driven by tourists, merchants and regular visitors.

"Negative, kid. We've had the illusion of peace. The illusion which will stop living, once people figured out that it is in no way real."

"I see. So you're saying our battles resulted in nothing but an illusion?" Trowa asked as he sidestepped a roller-bladder that roared down the asphalt road that lead towards the boardwalk of Santa Monica.

"Yep. It's nothing but an illusion because nobody won it for his or herself. They just stood back and let others win it for them, so there's no way that this peace could ever be considered real. Just wait – it'll topple and fall soon enough, crumbling before the eyes of the peoples of this Earth Sphere like stale cookies stomped on by five-year-old children. Because nothing on this Earth Sphere ever lasts. Nothing but the memories of what never really was."

"Too deep for me, James."

"Figured as much."

-- 12:59 --

'I hate it when he's right,' Trowa silently growled even as he looped one arm around the small form underneath him and pressed their bodies close together.

Quatre didn't say a single word, instead silently complying with Trowa's wish for him to stay close, to stay protected, to stay in place and utilize the taller boy as his shield.

Trowa dared to lift his eyes to the window.

The bright flashes of light that skittered from the muzzles of guns stung his eyes as he stared out of the shattered glass panes. He cringed as those guns started approaching, the black-clad persons that held those guns barking orders at one another to move in and kill anything in the room that moved.

They were out of options.

Trowa's lips turned towards a scowl.

"Let's run," Quatre hissed, glancing up towards his protector with brilliant blue eyes.

Trowa stared. 'Those eyes… they're burning with life. So different from before….'

-- 15:02, 7 Days Ago --

Daring a glance, he frowned.

Though he was smiling, Quatre was staring straight ahead at the door before them. His eyes, their dark blue-green color reflecting the light that danced down upon them from the florescent bulbs that claimed the perimeter of the mirrored ceiling and shown from behind the panes of shining reflective glass that made up the walls and the top of the transportation chamber, failed to shine with a life of their own.

'Those eyes; they're completely dead.'

Glancing into the mirrored door before them himself, Trowa stared at the reflections that met his gaze.

'Just like mine.'

The door opened, destroying Trowa's view of their reflections and allowing the smiling dead-eyed blonde and his business partner to depart the elevator for the hallway that now ran before them, heading straight for the door at its very end and the office it held behind its protective shielding.

Trowa frowned as he followed.

'He's not as I remember him. The last time I saw him, his eyes were bright and beautiful, shining with the spirit and life that had almost been stolen from him by Ms. Catalonia's rapier. They shined with glee and merriment. Before that they glittered with determination and fierce desperation.'

'Now they shine with nothing at all.'

'He's still as lovely as I remember him being, but something's changed….'

'Has your life been empty these last few months as well, Quatre? Has it been as untrue as my own?'

"Are you just like me?"

-- 13:00 --

'Those eyes are so fierce. So full of life. So full of the desire to continue living….'

"Alright," Trowa said with a nod, wrapping his long fingers around Quatre's wrist.

The silence that dominated the atmosphere around the two boys was stifling, flooded only with the sound of pounding hearts racing in frightened anticipation of what they were about to attempt and what might possibly happen even as the shouts of their attackers and the scrape of boot on pavement roared deafeningly loudly from the exterior of their room. The television droned on as their minds counted the seconds that ticked by.

"When they open the door," Quatre whispered softly.

Trowa let his head bobble in a single nod of approval even as he tightened his grip on his partner's limb, trying to secure his hold even as the sweat that made his palm slick and Quatre's wrist slippery tried to hinder him. Gulping quietly, he watched with narrowed eyes, his focus entirely on the thin wooden barrier that resided between them and their attackers, between the cage their hotel room had suddenly become and the freedom of the outdoors.

The door shuddered violently. A few scant moments passed before it shuddered again.

The doorjamb splintered even as the door shuddered and cracked, bending under the force of the attack being waylaid against it. A shot rang through the atmosphere, quickly followed by another, the metal door latch buckling and denting into cylindrical shapes outlining the bullets being pumped into it. Another harsh shudder and thump, another spray of splinters, another sharp snap as the crack propagated along the door's surface.

Tightening his grip on Quatre's wrist even further, any regard for causing the other boy discomfort or bruising his flesh thrown to the wind, Trowa shifted his position. Rising off his belly and from his almost comfortable bed of Quatre's back, he balanced his lank form atop his toes and the fingertips of his free hand. Nervously digging his toes more firmly into the thinned carpet, he prepared to spring, the muscles in his body veritably twitching in nervous anticipation.

With a crash, the door flew open and slammed with horrid violence into the wall behind it, its knob smashing through the simple drywall before the entire assembly careened back towards the party that had finally succeeded in kicking it in.

Trowa burst off his toes, pushing as hard as he could against that carpet to gain as much speed as humanly possible with that initial step, wrenching the boy under him along for the ride. His stride continued despite the added resistance of Quatre being dragged a couple feet before he was able to get his feet under him and join him in the desperate race for that newly opened door.

They reached the broken wooden slab even as it was being pushed back open by the barrel of a gun.

With the fortunate advantage of surprise, Trowa and Quatre burst past their attackers who reeled away from the two fleeing bodies with grunts and shocked yells, the foremost man being knocked flat on his back by Trowa's frame and stepped on by Quatre's sneaker-clad feet.

Their advantage lasted only a few moments. Bullets filled the air.

A sharp turn and a wrench to Quatre's arm changed the direction of their flight. Trowa headed straight for the new white Mercedes S-230 they'd been granted use of.

Yanking the door open as swiftly as he could, thankful that he'd forgotten to lock the car's door the night before, he veritably threw Quatre into the vehicle's interior. As Quatre yelped and sprawled helplessly across the seats, Trowa grabbed his feet and pushed them into the passenger side of the small car even as he jumped into the driver's seat, pulled the car's keys out of the glove box, shoved them with nervous violence into the ignition and gave them a swift turn.

He offered silent thanks to whatever God was protecting them as the car's engine roared to life with the first turn of the keys.

The pitter-patter of bullets thudding against the car's solid sides flooded their ears, even as the windows held upright by the doors at their sides burst and shattered around them. Trowa quickly smashed himself as low into his seat as he could, folding his legs painfully under the steering wheel column even as Quatre slipped himself headfirst off the passenger seat, pressing his skull under the dashboard on the floor to get his lower body and legs into the seat and protected by the car's metal sides.

Reaching under the passenger seat with blindly groping fingers, the blonde quickly found the gun they'd remembered to transfer from one vehicle to the next when their demolished Mercedes E430W was reclaimed by the Benz dealership they'd rented from. Lifting it, Quatre squirmed a bit more, turning himself so his body was almost entirely in the scant space between the seat and the front of the car, wedged under the dashboard.

Lifting his head and the hand that held the Kahr Arms K9, he swiftly took aim. Trowa ducked as his hand gripped the automatic transmission's lever and threw it into reverse.

The gun discharged. Immediately a pained scream and the sound of an automatic repetitious-fire rifle being fired randomly into the air rang, swiftly followed by the distinct sound of the underpowered pistol being shot again and the thud of a body hitting the ground.

Trowa laid his foot flat on the accelerator. The tires of the car spun rapidly, squealing in protest against the lack of friction they held with the road. Gray smoke billowed around them as the scent of burning rubber flooded their nostrils.

Trowa locked his elbows to keep himself from careening forward even as the car finally made contact with the asphalt underneath it and burst into motion. Quatre was buried under the dashboard, sliding off the seat his elbows were propped on.

They both lunged forward as the car crashed violently into the vehicle that was parked behind them, shoving the other sedan over the curb its front tires were rested against and pushing it with unerring straightness into the hotel room before it. Their trunk buckled towards the heavens even as the distinct crash of a bumper falling off of a car and hitting the ground sounded and the back window shattered and fell away, leaving nothing but the plastic sheet that was the interior of the safety glass in its place. With a scream, Quatre shuddered in his hiding place, being smashed firmly into his location by the swiftly deployed airbag; a swift prayer of thanks to Allah whispered from his lips for the protective device's fortunate deploy not removing his head from his shoulders even as the bag deflated and Trowa pushed with unreserved hatred at the pillow that had blasted out of the steering wheel, attempting to get it out of his way. Trowa desperately reached for the transmission's controller, uncaring about the damage, unwilling to take the time necessary to evaluate the wreckage he'd just caused.

Pulling back into Overdrive, Trowa's foot smashed the gas pedal back against the floorboards again. The car lugged as it was flooded out with gas.

Quatre pushed the blanketing deflated airbag aside to lift himself and shot another shot, deadly accurate and swift, putting a bullet straight into the skull of one of their attackers. As he fell in a spray of blood, his gun clattering uselessly to the ground, the Mercedes burst free of its dilemma, finding its power again and roaring out of the parking lot.

Trowa lifted himself in his seat to be able to see out of the windshield after they'd flown over the curb that separated the parking lot of the hotel complex from the street that ran towards the lonely strip of desolate I-10 freeway, his emerald eyes narrowed to filter out the sun's harsh light and keep his focus on the road and keeping the car pointed straight on the pavement.

'God damn! That was close.'

Quatre cursed beside him, drawing his other hand to grip his gun-bearing hand's wrist, bracing his elbows firmly against the passenger seat's headrest, squinting his eyes harshly as he glowered through the small pistol's sites.

Glancing over at his partner, Trowa arched a brow then glanced into the side mirror. He resisted the urge to firmly slap his forehead and curse obscenities as he noticed that four of the vehicles that were in that parking lot when he'd run to the car were chasing them desperately.

The pinging of bullets slamming into their trunk filled the atmosphere, leaving the acrid scent of smoldering metal in the car for mere moments before it was whisked away by the wind that plowed through the vehicle's broken windows. Bullets slid past the barrier the buckled metal of the trunk provided, slamming into the dashboard and chewing chunks out of its intrinsically designed shell and breaking through the windshield.

"Keep it straight and speed up, will you?" Quatre shouted, carefully taking aim, refusing to break his stance, concentration or position even as the environ around him filled with bullets and danger.

"Hai," Trowa replied, pressing the accelerator as hard as he could and locking his arms, holding the wheel as steadily as he could.

The Kahr Arms fired once, then twice.

One of the cars that chased them, a white Toyota Celica, veered violently into the center divider, crashing through the sand and rocks that split the freeway into twin rivers of black asphalt designated to have their occupying vehicles move in opposing directions. Crossing the opposite string of lanes, it sank its nose firmly into the drainage ditch that was carved along the eastbound freeway lanes' right outboard edge. The car hitched and flipped end over end before finally coming to a rest on its roof, its passenger compartment flattened completely.

Quatre swiftly dropped back into his seat, glancing over at Trowa even as he tossed the gun to the floorboard and gripped his arm. "Lose them. I can't keep it steady enough to make the last two bullets really count."

Trowa turned his gaze for a moment to his partner, scowling as he noted the strong discoloration that lit Quatre's shoulder, realizing that during their wild escape attempt, whether it had occurred when he'd wrenched the slim blonde along or when he'd thrown his partner into the car or when Quatre had wormed about on the floor of the car that his stitches had ripped and his wound was bleeding profusely. 'Of course you can't. You tore your arm to pieces, didn't you?'

'Lose them.'

'Crap!'

Wrenching the wheel to his right, Trowa took their wounded Mercedes off the edge of the freeway. Gripping the steering wheel with desperate strength, he braced himself.

The car jumped as it careened into the drainage ditch that lined their westbound lanes, tilting startlingly sharply towards the passenger side.

Quatre let a startled, frightened yelp escape his lips as he hung on to the seat for dear life, staring with afraid eyes as the ground began to appear outside of his shattered door window.

Trowa scowled and turned the wheel.

When they landed, the car tilted so Trowa was elevated towards the heavens and Quatre was pressed towards the earth, they rolled.

Trowa snarled, fighting the wheel even as the ground scraped the roof over his head, then as his door scrunched against gravel and sand flew against him, kicked up by the car's motion. The mirror that was mounted to the door crunched loudly as it was crushed under the car's massive weight.

The car settled as their wheels hit the ground once more, tires still spinning as Trowa had never lifted his foot from the accelerator, wheels pointed towards Trowa's left to prevent a second rollover performance. The car swerved terribly as they flew into motion, turning in the soft sand.

The lank ex-pilot turned the wheel as swiftly as he could, pointing their car into the desert and racing towards the distant horizon where sky met earth, daring one glance at the rearview mirror.

He smiled in satisfaction as the freeway was screaming away, the cars that had been pursuing them having shot right past their location and scrambling to follow them.

As they put distance between themselves and their pursuit, Trowa eased them towards the groove in the desert he'd noted on his many drives along their remote freeway location. When he located it, he slid the car carefully down its steep side, taking them to the dried bottom of a forgotten, dead river.

Leaning back in his chair, he let a tired sigh escape his lips. "Lost them," he informed his partner.

Quatre nodded, grimacing as he gripped his shoulder, his eyes still bright with the excitement of having escaped with his life.

-- 23:59 --

Trowa and Quatre leaned against the car, looking mournfully at the windowless hotel room before them with its broken door and bullet-riddled interior. "We have all the guns?" Quatre asked softly.

"Aa."

"Anything else?"

"Iya. Can't fit anything else into the remains of the trunk if we take every gun here."

Quatre sighed and shook his head. "Can't be helped, then. We'll get supplies at a later date, when it's safe. Have anywhere in particular you want to hide?"

"Iya."

"I still have business in Los Angeles to completely," Quatre huffed. "Maybe we should head to that city. We can find another hotel."

"I was thinking we could start heading towards where Mr. Wa-"

"We're not going to interfere, Trowa."

Trowa blinked before turning a confused stare to Quatre. 'But I thought you were so concerned about him?' he pondered silently.

"I'm concerned about him, but the fact that he's garnered Duo's assistance has me at ease about his situation. He can handle things. And if he can't, then whoever else he's brought into this can help him."

"Whoever else he's brought?"

"Think about it, Trowa. If Duo's on this, don't you think he'd have contacted me? Or you? He's certainly found something by now. And he'd call anyway, whether or not he'd found anything, to tell me he's alright."

Trowa silently nodded, agreeing with Quatre's observations and encouraging him to continue.

"He hasn't. Meaning that Duo ran into something fairly big and might have gotten into trouble."

"Shit."

"I think that's what James was counting on."

"What?"

Quatre nodded once. "Think about it. They found us because you and I are both known constants to them. Your inclusion in my protection might have thrown my enemies for a short amount of time, but they've adapted. Xavier knows us, knows how we think, knows how we react. He can make adjustments."

"Continue, Quatre. About Duo."

"Oh, of course." Blinking once, Quatre bowed his head. "He also knows Duo and how he works."

"So Xavier won't have any problems with Duo being in this as well. He'll be able to work around him to get to you," Trowa surmised.

"Correct. But if Duo's in trouble, there's another piece that gets drawn into the game and placed on the board. An unpredictable one Xavier's never had to deal with."

Trowa let a small smile turn his lips and nodded. "Understood. You think he's in on this now?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. There's only two people in this Earth Sphere who could put that man into motion, and Relena Dorlain's in no danger at this time."

"So…."

"Apparently, Mr. Waverly thinks that you and he aren't enough to solve this problem."

Trowa mentally scowled. 'Of course. I'm the forgotten one who's only capability is being a bullet shield. He wouldn't rely on me to figure this out.'

'I wasn't able at all to figure out all that was going on last time.'

"I think you're enough."

Trowa blinked, startled out of his thoughts. "You do?" he quietly replied.

"Aa. We don't need anyone else involved in this, despite what James thinks." A few moments of silence passed before Quatre whispered, "Don't let anyone else come between us."

"I won't."

tbc...