Surviving on Your Own

Ghost

Something eats away at my insides, telling me to check the Preventers database again until I finally cave and do it. Lack of sleep, restless, jitty as my hands shake. I can feel myself coming undone at the seams. Drinking alcohol might put me to rest, but I would have to consume a lot of it to knock me on my ass. Tempting as it sounds, booze would only end up being a distraction from my goal. Finding Quatre.

Shifting through all the Preventer files doesn't get me anything more information than I had before.

Gazing out the tiny motel window, I watch the street across the way as people pass on by. They all appear so relaxed and uncaring. I wish I could feel at ease again. A movement in the corner of my room caughts my attention.

Turning my eyes fall on the object of my desire seated in a chair, one leg folded over the other, smirking at me.

"Quatre..." I whisper.

He grins. "Hello Trowa."

I heard no one come in, and I know he can't really be sitting in front of me, it's too good to be true. My sleep deprived mind has to be hallucinating.

But regarless, I speak to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," he responds, relaxing further in the ratty cushioned chair.

I feel my shoulders slump and a warmth spread through my chest. "I've missed you."

"I miss you too," he tells me and his eyes sparkle.

"Where'd you go?" I ask.

His blue eyes dim, his smile faulters and he shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm lost."

That warmth in my heart dissapates, a coldness consuming. "I am too," I whisper. "But I think if I can find you, I can find me too."

Gazing out the window, Quatre informs me, "I'm not the only one you need to find."

I feel my brows pinch together confused. "What do you mean?"

He points a slender finger, aimed over my shoulder. I turn and look at my computer. Is there something in this database that I'm suppose to see? "I don't know what you mea-" my sentence is cut short as I realize he's gone. Evaported into thin air. Why do you keep leaving me, Quatre?

Somberly, I return to clicking away through files on top of flies, trying to look for what he wants me to find. If he isn't the only one I'm to search for, than who else? Coming across the incarceration list, I find a man who - in my opinion - doesn't belong there. Well, Quatre, I've found what you wanted me to, and now I'll do something about it.

You would think an Agency as big and important as the Preventers would make it difficult to get inside, but either they need to up their secruity, or I'm just that good. After nonchalantly walking into their parking gargage, I wait in the shadows, in the darkest corner away from any and all survalliance cameras. Waiting for the right person. I need a male agent close to my height, and when he finally walks by, I grab him by his jacket collar, haul him backwards, and place him in a sleeper hold. Five seconds and it's lights out. Deftly changing our clothes, I don his uniform, and leave the man in my clothing seated upright in the dark corner hidden by a large black SUV.

Checking the name tag, I'm now Mike Anderson. I swip his lamenated tag through the access panel and the door swooshes open. Inside in five minutes flat, not bad. An old familiar adreline kicks in and I feel like I'm on top of my game for the first time in a while. I've always been so great at playing "ghost", I almost forgot how exhiliarting it can be.

Before I left my dingy little motel room, I studied the layout of the building via their hidden encrypted files, so I know I'm headed for the basement. In the elevator, I stand stock still with my wrists behind my back, a soldiers stance. It decends quickly, and as I exit, I'm faced with a guard seated behind a plate glass window.

He doesn't even bother to look up as he asks, "Which prisoner?"

"Prisoner C-5-9-9-W."

"Sign the form," he instructs me, eyes still glued to his crossword puzzle. I sign a big fat 'X'. This way when they realize we're gone, they'll know who to blame. They should really have more reliable people employed here.

The guard buzzes me through, and I walk on soft feet through the corridors in search of a particular cell. When I find it, my intended target looks at me briefly before rolling back over to face the wall.

"Wufei," I say in a low voice. "Would you like to get out of here?"

I see his body tense on the bed, and then he slowly rolls over. His face is astounded. "Barton?" he harshly whispers.

I nod my head. I can tell he's having a hard time making sense of this, of why I'm here. Also, that "honor" crap that he lives by is probably telling him he should stay locked up and deal with his perdicament on his own, but I'm not going to let that happen. Pulling out a few picking tools from my - or rather Mike's - pocket, I begin to dislogue the lock.

"Don't do that!" He seethes quietly, jumping from the bed. "They have sensors on them that will go off when being - " the lock clicks and I push the bar door to the side. "- tampered with...huh...Guess I was wrong."

A small chuckle escapes my throat. "No, I'm just that handy. Let's go."

"We can't just walk out of here!" Wufei's fist clench at his sides, and he hasn't even cross the cell's threshold to freedom yet.

I place a gentle hand on his shoulder and pierce his brown eyed gaze with my stern glare. "If you follow my lead, it will be that easy."

Turning, I walk away. I get maybe five feet ahead of him before he starts walking. Once he's caught up to me, I tell him to stick close and act like nothing is out of the ordinary. As we pass the guard, I can feel his anxiety heighten, but once we're in the elevator he lets out a sharp exhale, as if he were holding his breath.

Without turning to look at him, I say, "You're doing fine. This is easier than you think. Easier than it should be." He doesn't say anything, but in the shiny silver closed doors, I see his reflection nod, trusting me to help him.

Composedly marching through the halls and past busy agents, I have to fight the smirk that twitches at the end of my lips. Exiting through the same door I came in through, we're one step closer to freedom. I can tell Wufei's wanting to make a break for it, sprint to the end and out of sight, but we have to remain inconspicuous.

Rounding the corner, and we're on the sidewalk. Out of the parking garage. Out of HQ. Again, he lets out a lofty sigh.

"I told you it was easier than you thought."

"Yeah," he agrees, "A little disheartening, if you know what I mean."

"Were you wanting a fight before breaking out? Guns blazing."

"No, but I expected someone to try to stop us."

"When you're a ghost, no one sees you until you're long gone."

We make it back to the motel, and begin a lengthy discussion. He tells me why he was locked up. Shocked doesn't really put my mood into perspective. Heero's involved in some kind of drug conspiracy and Une accused Chang fucking Wufei as a co-conspirator? And they think Duo's apart of it all too? Well, fuck me sideways. This is a mess. We are a mess. Can't function in the world we fought for, how pathetic. I can't tell if I'm more sad, angry, or just plain disappointed about Heero. Come on, heroin? Oh how the mighty have fallen. And it's not just him, but all of us. Wufei can't tell me much on Duo's possible collaboration, he never saw our braided comrade.

He tells me of his issues with his anger, fight clubs, and attacking his therapist. I tell him of my insomnia, lack of appetit, and how I was rarely talking in the past few months. My apethetic nature. Though maybe not so apethetic anymore. He knows of my accident at the circus, and kindly tells me I look like shit. That I already know; bags under my bloodshot eyes, skin pale, and I'm on edge. How could I not look all kinds of fucked up?

"And then there's that whole debcle with Winner," Wufei adds, rolling his eyes.

"I need to find him," I inform.

"Why? Winner's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"Because Wufei, don't you think he needs some kind of help just like you did?"

He shrugs. "I guess."

"Will you help me?" I ask on the verge of pleading.

His brown eyes roam over the room, chews on his bottom lip. "Well, it's not like I can go back to my job."

A grin breaks out on both of our faces and we chuckle. I extend my hand. "It's nice to be working alongside you Chang."

He shakes my hand. "Back at you, Trowa."

"There's one thing I need you to do for me first."

Cocking an eyebrow, he asks, "And what would that be?"

"I haven't slept in days," I explain. "I need you to knock me out."

He stands. Cracks his knuckles. I only feel a brief moment of pain before falling in to sweet, sweet unconsciousness.