-1Disclaimer: as per usual. I don't own anything to do with Gundam Wing…

Note: Many thanks to KS, both for beta-reading and for not strangling Quatre.

Asa Arif:

He woke to pale blue walls, crisp white linen and a woman in a white coat bending over him. The white coat would have screamed a warning but she was a stranger. He could feel only concern and kindness radiating from her; not one of those scientists then. She was tall and blonde with her hair swept back into an elegant chignon. She reminded him of his sister Iria.

'Where am I?' It hurt to talk, forcing words through a too-parched throat. Actually, everything hurt, in an unfocused sort of way. He was still drugged, then.

'Very good.' She gave him a gentle smile, and held a cone of ice cubes to his lips. 'I'm always so happy when a patient's first question is something other than 'who am I?''

Quatre licked his lips greedily. 'My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. Please, where am I?'

'The White Sands Memorial Hospital,' the blond woman informed him. 'I am Dr. Marshall and I've been looking after you.' She smiled. 'It's very nice to see you properly awake. You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for nearly two days.'

'Two days?' They'd obviously given him more drugs, unless he'd been seriously hurt. No, he wouldn't be useful if he was too incapacitated. 'I need to make a telephone call. Now.'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Winner.' She looked slightly embarrassed. 'That's impossible at the moment.'

Quatre refrained from grinding his teeth with an effort; something to which he was prone at moments of stress. It was something Trowa had always thought hilarious. Instead, he summoned up his most winning smile. 'I do quite understand it's probably against hospital regulations. However, it is extremely urgent. I'll only take a moment.'

The doctor turned away from him, to check his monitor. 'It's not hospital regulations, sir. There are Preventer agents outside; they've given orders that you are not allowed to contact anyone until they've spoken to you.'

'Then you had better send them in immediately,' Quatre demanded imperiously. Dr. Marshall hesitated and then the door opened anyway.

The first two men were strangers in Preventer uniform. The third was Commander Une herself. He had known she'd appear at some point, she would have to be personally involved in such an important investigation. He hadn't thought she'd get here so soon though; the one person who wouldn't be remotely awed by who he was.

Not good.

'Mister Winner. Well, well. I'm sure your family and friends will be overjoyed by your safe return.' Her dry tone indicated that she found it difficult to share that particular emotion.

Quatre pulled himself up on his pillows, ignoring the doctor's protests. 'What exactly is the meaning of this, Commander? Am I to consider myself a prisoner of your organisation? I've been informed that you have forbidden me to communicate with anyone, but perhaps Dr. Marshall was mistaken.'

'She was perfectly correct. It has been decided, for your own safety, to keep your current whereabouts a secret for the present.' The smile showed all her teeth. 'After all, we don't want to lose you again, do we?'

'You have no right to do anything of the sort!'

'Actually, I do. In cases where a person's welfare and safety are paramount, we are entitled to take them into protective custody until such time as we judge the situation to be safe. While the people who took you are still at large, you are very much at risk. Now, perhaps you could tell us what has been happening.'

'I have no idea,' Quatre owned. 'Unfortunately, I have no recollection of what has been going on.'

Une glared at him. 'Mr. Winner, need I remind you that failing to co-operate fully with a Preventers investigation is considered a serious offence, one that is severely punishable?'

'Mr. Winner sustained a significant blow to the left side of his skull. Temporary amnesia is perfectly common in these cases,' the doctor cut in. 'He is also suffering from three cracked ribs, a badly sprained ankle, and acute dehydration and sunstroke. In the circumstances, I protest strongly against any questioning until he is at least partially recovered.'

'I have seen his medical charts and your objection is noted,' Une said dismissively. 'Now, Dr. Marshall, I must inform you that it is not customary to conduct Preventer investigations in front of an audience. I must ask you to leave.'

'He has suffered trauma to the head,' Dr. Marshall said firmly. 'In this hospital, it is not customary to leave such patients unattended by a member of the medical staff. If you object to this policy, you are welcome to take it up with my superiors.'

Une graced her with a brief nod. 'Very well. Assuming you refrain from any more interruptions, you may stay. Now, Mr. Winner, may I ask what you do remember?'

Quatre rubbed his eyes. 'I'm not sure. I remember leaving my fiancée's parents' house, that was on Friday morning. I'm - not quite sure what day it is today.'

'It's Thursday, the 16th of April. Yes, you've been missing for almost a week. You mean to say that you have no recollection of what has happened to you in that period?'

'I believe I just said so. Have I been here all time? What happened?'

'You were apparently abducted shortly after leaving the Carricks' home on Friday. You were found two days ago in the desert, by a party of tourists on a jeep safari. Their driver contacted Emergency Services and you were airlifted here.'

'In the desert?' Quatre echoed incredulously. 'By myself? Where is Delphine? And my bodyguards? I don't understand. Have I really been missing since Friday?'

'Quite so. It seems rather odd, don't you think, that your captors, having gone to so much trouble to take you in the first place, should simply let you go? They can hardly, after all, have known that you would lose such a convenient portion of your memory. You could have been able to impart all sorts of information to us.'

'Perhaps they thought I was already dead.'

Une raised her brows at him. 'Really, Mr. Winner. I find it difficult to believe that the most inept of abductors would be unable to distinguish between a living man and a corpse. Or do you think that they suddenly became squeamish at the thought of killing you?'

'They possibly thought I would die in the desert.' Quatre bit his lip; she was quite right. This was by far the weakest part of his story. 'People do strange things under pressure.'

'Yes.' She gave him a hard stare. 'They do. So, tell me, what you do remember of that Friday morning. Who, for instance, knew that you were planning to spend the night there?'

'A number of people. We were rather late finishing dinner on Thursday and Delphine's father pressed me to stay for the night, rather than driving back to the city so late. My bodyguards knew, naturally, and I imagine one of them called my housekeeper to inform her I wouldn't be home. Apart from that, there were other guests at the party; mostly relations of the Carricks, I think.'

Une nodded. 'We have spoken to them. Now, did anything unusual happen during the meal, or the next morning, before you left?'

'If you knew the Carricks, you wouldn't ask that. They like a very quiet, ordered existence with no shocks or surprises.'

'A blow to them, then, when their only child was discovered on a dirt road with her brains blown out. Or don't you remember any of that either?'

'What?' Quatre could only hope his reaction would satisfy her, even if it was less for the news, than for the manner of its delivery. He hoped this wasn't the customary way to interrogate suspects. 'She's dead? What about my men? What the hell happened?'

'We were hoping you would be able to tell us that.' She threw him another of those intense stares. 'As the only witness who actually survived. For some reason.'

'Commander!' Dr. Marshall protested, rising to stand beside Quatre. 'Mr. Winner has a potentially serious head injury. I must ask you not to address him in this appalling fashion. It is possible that his memories will return but heckling him in this fashion can only be counter-productive. Hasn't he suffered enough? Apart from anything else, there is still a significant amount of drugs in his bloodstream, and he is also on pain medication for his various injuries.'

'He seems remarkably lucid to me. When he chooses.'

'I'm all right, Quatre said quickly. 'Doctor, I do appreciate your concern, but I would - rather know.' He'd known they were dead all along, but somehow, hearing it from Une made it a stark reality. He'd sworn he'd never again be responsible for innocent people dying, and three had, because of him. An innocent young woman and two men who'd been friends and comrades for years. His fault. It made him even more determined that nothing would endanger Trowa or the others. 'I'm sorry, Commander. Please, what exactly happened? How were they killed?'

'Shot, all of them. Professional shots between the eyes.' Her severe expression gentled very slightly. 'It would have been quick; they wouldn't have suffered.'

Dr. Marshall made a small sound of distress. 'Commander, really I can not allow you to speak to my patient like this. He has to be in considerable pain, he is medicated; I can't imagine this questioning can be productive in any possible way, other than to cause him more distress.'

'Perhaps. It's true that he has been somewhat incoherent,' Une admitted. She turned back to look at her victim. 'We've been recording your speech since you arrived here. You mentioned Operation Meteor, and your fellow Gundam Pilots several times. You appeared very distressed about something that was going to happen; some catastrophe that you felt only you could prevent. Does that make any sense?'

Quatre shook his head. 'I don't remember any of that. I must have been thinking about the war.'

'You also mentioned Treize Khushrenada a number of times.' Une eyed him closely.

'Treize?' This time, Quatre's bafflement was genuine; it was a luxury to let himself show a true emotion. 'What did I say about him?'

'Like I said, it was mostly rambling.' Une shook her head. 'Let us speak plainly for a moment, Mr. Winner. This is not a game. People have already died. If you are withholding any information, be assured that I will find out, and failure to co-operate fully will be treated as contempt both for my investigation, and for the ESUN legal system. Is that quite understood?'

'I don't understand any of this,' Quatre said weakly, falling back against his pillows. 'I promise you, I want to find these people quite so much as you do, if not more. Why in the world should I try to hide information? Or am I a suspect in my own abduction? I imagine I could have died quite easily in the desert. What do you think; that I've been trying to stage the world's most elaborate suicide attempt?'

'I have very little idea what to think. But I can think of reasons why you might want to hide information from us; to protect someone, for example.' She pulled her chair a little closer to the bed, and leaned down, inches from his face. 'I have neither time or inclination to play your games. Princess Relena's brother and Chang Wufei were attacked three days ago, less than an hour after arriving on L4. They were both almost killed.'

'What?' The blood drained from Quatre's face, leaving him pale as bleached bone. 'Oh, no. This is all my fault.'

'Why ever would you believe that?' Une was watching him closely, a cat toying with a particularly succulent mouse. She plainly didn't believe a syllable of the memory loss.

'Well, it's obvious, surely.' Quatre took a deep breath and held it, visualising it filling his lungs, expanding them, the way Wufei had taught him. 'I imagine they came to L4 on my account, when they heard I was missing.' He took another breath. It wasn't working, but then he'd never been as good at it as Wufei. Dear Allah, if they were badly hurt, it was all because of him. 'Please, Commander, how are they?'

'Prince Milliardo was shot, but is recovering satisfactorily.' She didn't sound too happy about the fact; there had always been bad blood between those two. 'Chang was unhurt and is naturally behaving as though he were in charge of the investigation.' Her mouth thinned.

'That sounds like him.' Gods, 'Fei, why couldn't you have stayed on Earth? And kept Duo there?

'Indeed. Furthermore, a Preventer shuttle was shot down that same day. Twelve agents plus the flight crew died. I knew them all, Winner. I had trained some of them myself and I assure you that I will find who is responsible and make them pay.'

Quatre nodded. 'I am so sorry, Commander. That is a truly terrible thing, and I share your sorrow that this happened on my home colony and, in part, because of me. If there is anything I can do to help the families, I wish to do so.'

Even through the haze of drugs, he could feel her sorrow. Une looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. 'That is kind of you. You see, Mr. Winner, I refuse to believe that either of these events can be unconnected to your abduction. Also, hundreds of people could have been killed on Saturday, when two of your WEI buildings were targeted by terrorists.'

'Three.' He said it without thinking, hadn't even realised his mistake until he saw her expression.

'Ah.' The smile spread over her face, slow and predatory. 'I see. So you do recall something of the past week's events after all. How very interesting.'

'No. I wish I did. The helicopter pilots who brought me here were discussing it; one of them has a cousin who works for WEI. You can ask them if you wish; I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but I do remember that.' He rubbed his temples. Oh, Allah, his head hurt.

'How convenient.' He'd thought she'd want to make him elaborate; instead she took off in a totally different vein. 'Perhaps this may jog your memory slightly?' She handed him a photograph and Quatre frowned at the image of a high-rise apartment building. Even on the small image looked run-down and neglected ; not the sort of place he was used to.

'I don't think I've ever been anywhere like that in my life. Why is it important?'

She pursed her lips, apparently deciding whether or not to confide in him. 'Our agents searched the building on Monday morning. We found blood in the hallways that matches your DNA, as well as this. We have received confirmation from two members of your family that you frequently doodle similar images.'

'This' was a second photograph; a crudely carved image of Sandrock. 'I'm sorry. I can't remember, Commander. Is that the place where I was held?'

'Perhaps.' Another pause, another intense stare. This time, he had to drop his gaze first. 'You don't remember sending an email either, I take it? To Barton?'

'No. Did I do that? Does that mean that I escaped then?'

'We are currently investigating the matter. Can you tell us the precise nature of your relationship with the man who calls himself Trowa Barton?'

'I fail to see how that could possibly be relevant.'

'Mr. Winner, may I remind you that I am the one asking the questions here?'

'Well, then as I'm sure you are aware, Trowa was my personal bodyguard, and the Chief of Security at Winner Enterprises for the past seven years. He was also my lover.'

'You place both relationships in the past tense,' Une noted. 'Tell me, why did you terminate his employment?'

'I didn't. It was a mutual decision.'

'After so many years in your service, he suddenly failed to give satisfaction? Or was the decision to leave his? There must surely have been some reason.'

'That's personal.' Quatre's jaw snapped shut on the last syllable.

'And the break up of your… personal relationship? Was that also a mutual decision? An amicable separation?'

'I doubt that any separation can be truly amicable,' Quarter said evenly. 'And I still fail to see why my private life is in any way germane.'

'It is …germane, Mr. Winner,' she drew the words out, relishing them, 'because Barton is currently the chief suspect. And it does seem rather likely that he is the one person you would try to protect. Given the nature of your relationship.'

'That is quite absurd.' It was hard to tell, looking at her, whether she truly believed in the accusation or not. It made awful, twisted sense in some ways. Of course, he would do anything to protect Trowa; she had to know that.

'Is it? We have reports from your family, from your household staff, that you two had been having frequent…altercations, shall we say? Over the past few months. They witnessed raised voices on numerous occasions. More than one has testified that they believed Barton was abusing you in some way.'

'Nonsense. Commander, my sisters have never liked Trowa, nor approved of our relationship. I would advise you to take any of their allegations with a large pinch of salt.'

'Perhaps.' Une conceded. 'But we also have similar reports from your domestic and security staff. Are you suggesting that they too are seizing an opportunity to pay off old scores against Mr. Barton?'

'None of them those people have any right whatsoever to intrude into our personal lives.'

'I believe they were motivated by concern for their employer,' Une intoned blandly.

'I don't need anyone's concern! I'm quite capable of managing my own affairs.'

'Really?' Une reached into her bag and produced a maroon folder. 'The contents of this would seem to suggest differently.'

Quatre gasped; it simply wasn't possible He'd destroyed it. He had. He'd never meant anyone to see the thing; it had only been a last ditch solution, a way to force Trowa to leave. Praise Allah, he hadn't had to resort to that. Trowa had left him first, and he'd despatched Sarab, whom he would have trusted with his life, to collect the folder from the cottage. Sarab was the only other person who'd ever known it existed….

Oh. Sarab,…

It was true then, what he'd been told. There really was no one, however close to him, whom he could trust.

And he'd burnt the original; he'd destroyed it with his own hands once he knew it wouldn't be necessary. Sarab must have taken a copy…'Where did you get that?'

'In the safe in your bedroom. I see you know what it is.'

'It's private!' He burst out. 'This is intolerable, Commander. You had no right to that sort of invasion of privacy and…'

'Oh, we had full authority. Your sisters gave us full permission to search the entire house.' Her considering look made him blush; the safe under the bed had been their most private repository and the idea of Preventer agents going through it, cataloguing each item was repellent. 'My compliments, incidentally, on whoever designed the combination. It took my best agents over twenty four hours to break the code.'

'I designed it. Commander, please. Trowa and I had been having problems, that's quite true. But the idea that he would truly hurt me is laughable. And he would never have hurt Delphine or my men. He knew them; he considered them friends. Besides, he had left for Earth weeks before any of this happened; he wasn't even on this Colony at the time.'

'We have no definite proof of that. Barton apparently used a false identity to leave L4 on the 7th of March. He may well have returned under a false name. If not, I imagine he would know the perfect people to carry out such an assignment. Tell me, how did he react to your engagement? I imagine he was hardly pleased.'

Quatre took a deep breath. 'He knew it was only ever a front. We came up with the idea together. It simply wasn't an issue between us.'

'Really?' She looked sceptical. 'Mr. Winner, I would greatly appreciate a little honesty. Whatever about this purported memory loss of yours, you can scarcely deny the existence of this folder, or the evidence it contains. Photographs, reports in your own handwriting….some of the injuries sound rather severe from this.'

'None of it was Trowa's fault,' Quatre said hopelessly.

She ignored him. 'You've been worried for some time, haven't you? The earliest dated photograph is over six months old. Worried enough to have two psychiatrists assess him independently and issue reports on his behaviour. Yet, you never told anyone else what was going on. Why, I wonder? A sense of misplaced loyalty? Fear of what he might do when he found out?'

'Absolutely not.' Quatre took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm. 'Commander, we were going through a rather stressful period. It affected us both in different ways. But you can't truly imagine that Trowa is any way responsible for what happened to me.'

'As I've said, he is our chief suspect at the moment. I gather that he is also the chief beneficiary of your estate?'

'That means nothing.'

'On the contrary, it would make him an extremely wealthy man. That is a powerful motive. Perhaps he wished to punish you for casting him off in favour of the young woman? Or to frighten you?'

'No.' It was a mere whisper. Une was ruffling through the pages of her folder. Both agents were standing to attention by the door, looking for all the world like guard dogs on assignment.

'I do understand that you are somewhat biased. I would request you to look at this case objectively for one moment. We have a young man with a troubled, traumatic past. A man who has survived since childhood only by using his skills and his wits, and who has a history of violence. He has never seen any form of therapist, as far as I am aware. Who can tell what traumas may be affecting him?'

Her usually sharp voice softened, became persuasive. 'I believe he does love you. Since the war, he has had you all to himself, hasn't he? You have been constantly together. You've offered him so many things he had never had in his life. A home, security, stability. All the things he probably spent his childhood dreaming of. He could be truly happy at your side, secure in your feelings for him. Perhaps all that changed when you met Miss Carrick? Perhaps he saw her as some form of competition.'

'I told you. It wasn't real. It was only for show.'

Her eyebrows rose. 'So you say. But perhaps he began to see that even an arranged marriage would change things between you. You would be expected to spend a modicum of time with your fiancée; it was a relationship you could proudly portray to the world, rather than having to keep it hidden. Perhaps Barton grew to resent it, or thought that you were beginning to develop deeper feelings for the girl. He realised the status of your relationship would inevitably alter in some ways. And as your wife, she would naturally stand to inherit everything under L4 laws.'

She glanced down at the pages in her hand. 'You have underlined some passages in one of these reports which deal with paranoia and its effects. There are also some marked references to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You were beginning to worry about him, weren't you? You were seeing certain signs in his behaviour, in his manner toward you. Little things that were beginning to add up and point to certain conclusions.'

Quatre scrubbed one hand against his eyes. He was not going to cry in front of this woman. He was not.

'I - I didn't know what to do.' He gazed up at her appealingly, eyes brimming. 'Please, I still don't.'

I should perhaps tell you,' Une mentioned, that, acting against our specific advice, your sisters have offered an extensive reward for anyone who can produce Barton, or information relating to his whereabouts.'

Oh, Trowa. Quatre closed his eyes for a second, imagining his lover being hunted like a dangerous animal.

Catching the pained expression, Une proceeded to press her point home. 'I imagine he will have every bounty hunter in the universe after him, to bring him in.'

Quatre's lip curled. 'They can try, certainly.'

'He's good, yes, but he is only one man. All it takes is for one of them to get lucky, or for him to get careless. And I imagine he is a little distracted at the moment, given recent events.' She sighed. 'Your sisters didn't bother to stipulate any conditions for his capture. Do you really want to think of him out there in space, alone, with no one to help him and the scum of the universe tracking him? My agents would guarantee to take him alive, not to harm him any more than necessary.'

'You don't… you don't know where he is either.'

'Actually, we do. He is on his way to L3.'

'What?' Quatre's voice sharpened. 'Why is he going there?'

'He has hardly shared that information with us. Tell me, is there some reason why he shouldn't go there?'

'No. Of course not.' What had Trowa discovered? Quatre had been so careful, or so he'd thought. That decided him; there was no way he could let Tro go to L3. 'Very well. What do you want me to do? I still…I don't remember anything of what happened. I can't just lie about him.'

'I need your signature on this.' A neatly bound document suddenly appeared in her hands. 'It's a document stating that you had been worried about Mr. Barton's mental state for some time now, and that you are no longer sure what he's capable of. Both copies, if you will. You're doing the right thing; if Barton is innocent, he will be cleared. If, on the other hand, he is suffering from some form of breakdown, he will receive the best possible help.'

Quatre gave the words a cursory glance; it didn't make any difference. He was going to have to sign anyway.

'I need your personal word that he will not be harmed before I sign anything.' He disliked her personally, but she was devoted to maintaining the peace at all costs. Ironically, she was probably one of the few people whom he could trust at the moment. Besides, looking for Trowa would keep her agents occupied, and it was possible they'd never catch him anyway…

'Date it please,' Une requested. 'Now, Agent Miles, I will need you to deliver this to the Preventers office. Agent Blakeney, you will remain here with me, and we will go back over Mr. Winner's story in detail. Perhaps that may jog some details of your memory.'

'I doubt my patient is well enough for that at the moment.' Dr. Marshall said angrily.

'Oh, I think he's stronger than he looks,' Une said dismissively, holding out her hand for the signed copies.

Quatre Raberba Winner. He wrote it twice; the flamboyant signature that Trowa had always teased him about.

I'm so sorry, Tro.

'You are doing the right thing, you know.'

'Am I?' Quatre wondered. He doubted it. There was no going back at this point, though. Trowa would never forgive him for this betrayal, and neither would any of the others.

'Now, the folder please.'

He held it out in shaking fingers and it slipped through his grasp. 'Oh, I'm sorry.'

'No matter.' Une bent over him impatiently, taking the thing and handing it to one of her minions. 'Excellent. Now, we have work to do, I believe.'

I'm so very sorry, Trowa. Asa arif.