Impossible

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Rambled Off by The Manwell

Book Three: PARTNERS

Heero Yuy

Usually, when sleep eludes me, it's for a reason.

And I'll be damned if I know what it is tonight.

I flop onto my back with a frustrated sigh and stare up at the blank, grey landscape of my ceiling. And as I actually find myself studying this unremarkable neosteel panel, I think it's kind of a shame that I couldn't work something into that virus I'd written using the metal tile above the beds in the residences.

But then, before I can feel more than a twinge of amusement at the idea of hapless sleepers levitating toward their ceilings, I'm drawn into the reality of what I actually had written into that virus.

My own death.

And it would have happened, too, if Duo hadn't arrived when he had. Which brings me to the second disturbing aspect of the whole thing: the fact that I'd convinced myself I'd checked in with him when I actually hadn't... in order to get him to come out here and save me from myself.

I'm not even sure if any of this makes any sense. Can my training actually malfunction and try to destroy me? It's very own conduit? Does my subconscious really have the ability to plan and time something so elaborate? Something which depends completely on Duo's characteristic impatience?

And then there's the second instance from a few days ago in my apartment. Had I left the phone off the hook rather than simply turn on my voice mail because my subconscious had been anticipating something destructive from my training? But then, I had been destructive, hadn't I?

I wonder what Duo did with the remains of the cactus and I try not to wince at the pang that twists the muscles in my chest tighter.

The evidence seems to suggest that my training really is violently unpredictable while my subconscious is continually sending out cries for help. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. There are so many things about that theory that bother me... I can't even begin to sort it all out. And that's the last thing I want to do right now, anyway.

I curl onto my side and wish I'd swallowed my pride and invited Duo to stay with me tonight, rumors and unprofessionalism be damned. But I hadn't. And this is my problem after all. I know I have to come to some sort of resolution regarding it soon. Because if it manages to become other people's problem as well... by then it'll be too late.

What does the world do to malfunctioning soldiers who have a subconscious that will go to unknown lengths for the sole purpose of survival? What would J have done?

And if there's one thought in the world – that doesn't involve harm coming to Duo – that could bring me nightmares, it's that.

God... I know the answer to that question: I know what J would have done. After all, he'd done it before.

Retraining.

That is, if he'd determined that I was still needed. Still useful. Still necessary.

And if not...

Well, in all actuality, deactivation might be a kindness compared to retraining.

Damn. Listen to me. I sound like I'm discussing a misbehaving pet dog or a computer on the fritz.

With a second sigh, I reflop onto my back and glare at the ceiling again. This is getting me nowhere. Except even further entangled in my depressing circumstances. It's obvious to me that I need a distraction. And there's really only one person who can do that for me.

So, I roll out of bed and straighten my T-shirt and shorts. I stuff my feet into my dress shoes, sans socks, and head out the door. I don't care that my hair is probably standing up all over the place, or that I must look damn funny in my black sleep wear and polished leather shoes. I march purposefully down the hall to Duo's room and press the call button and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

What the hell? I frown at the key pad and announce my presence yet again.

And yet again there's no answer.

Okay, enough of this shit. Whatever Duo's doing in there he can just–

The thought collapses in on itself as the obvious occurs to me. It's not that Duo isn't answering his door. It's because he's not even there to hear my call.

Suddenly my heart is pounding painfully in my chest. I damn him for wandering off like this... without back up or telling me or...

But then, maybe he had told me. In a way. Perhaps there's note left for me in his rooms. And with that, I try the door. It's locked but it only takes me a minute of trying Duo's favorite number combinations before I hit on the right one.

The door slides open revealing an empty room. Don't ask me why I'd still been hoping to walk in and see him standing just behind the door, his face a mask of hostile efficiency, and a cocked and loaded gun pointed at the spot between my eyes.

But he isn't there. And there's no note that I can see.

And I'm starting to lose patience.

Is it really so much to ask that he'd clue me in on these sorts of things? I mean, for the love of peace, all I really want is a little consideration from–

I freeze. Completely.

The echo of my thoughts is almost a presence in and of itself: All I really want.

And suddenly, I understand what that weird almost-recollection I'd experienced earlier means.

I remember Adamsson's assistant asking me during my first assignment, "I've noticed that your job doesn't really seem to be, uh, challenging you, Rupert. So what is it you really want?"

And I remember sitting in a room – the mirror image of this one – my hands frozen above my laptop's keypad and a half-finished virus staring back at me on the screen as I'd realized a single truth. I would do anything to be Duo's friend.

Oh. God.

It all comes together so fast I feel a little nauseous. All the pieces zoom into place. The handful of tiny, little details I shouldn't have forgotten, but somehow had.

The question the assistant had asked me. And it's mate: "And how are you going to achieve your goal?"

I'd thought I hadn't answered those questions. But I had. I just hadn't answered them verbally. But then, the man hadn't been trying to get me to talk, had he?

And then the last detail. Arguably, the most important one, visits me.

Adamsson's assistant had approached me with his questions while we'd been in a small laboratory. The same laboratory, in fact, that he'd quizzed Duo in earlier today.

I'm out the door and racing down the hall like a shot. I don't particularly care that my shoes hadn't been designed for running in... especially without socks. If I slow down, I know the panic will overtake my mind and I absolutely, positively cannot let that happen.

I must be making enough noise to rival the Earth's great Serengeti migration, but it's a secondary – and unimportant – detail. I'm panting harshly, a little from exertion but mostly from stress. My goal isn't exactly clear to me. Am I running to save Duo? To tell him what I've discovered? Or am I in pursuit of a suspect?

When I burst into the small laboratory four very long minutes later, I'm surprised to find both of my quarries in residence.

And I blink in numb shock as I notice one of them has bound and restrained the other with a colorful assortment of electrical cords.

"Yo, man."

I stand there gaping, in my pj's and dress shoes, until Duo's grin widens even further and he gestures toward a very scared-looking pharmacist, "I was just explaining to our buddy here that it's a kinda serious felony to fuck with the minds of Preventer agents. Speaking of... you don't have your badge and cuffs on you, by any chance, do ya?"