Standard Disclaimers apply
It was only half way through dinner, and Heero felt more trapped than he had at Relena’s stupid ball, with all those conniving and conceited politicians. To his left, as Ashura had explained in a low voice, were the Red and the Sapphire Keys, who were involved in an illicit affair behind their Masters’ backs; the Red Key was an extreme masochist in perfect counterpoint to the other boy’s sadistic habits. There was a reason, after all, that his room was blood red.
Dominic had been ready to move the Red Key to a different room; he was not pleased with their behavior and took great pains to keep them separated. But they still had mealtimes together, and though they couldn’t toss each other to the floor and make wild, heated love, they showed their appreciation for the other in all the little ways that mattered.
Heero stared at the two boys, or rather, at the tall, slender boy with a long, glossy jet-black braid that shimmered under the flickering lights. He seemed so submissive, so surrendering to the other’s touch, allowing the younger Key to feed him bits of veal.
"So the one with the braid is the Red Key?" he asked, nodding at the couple. Ashura snorted behind his hand.
"No, Ororo’s the dom, actually." The blonde shook his head. "You’d never know, would you?" Heero shook his head.
And then Ashura pointed at a group huddled at the end of the long table. "Those poor children," the Emerald Key sighed. "They’re the color Keys," he then added, as if that explained everything.
It did, in a way. Heero thought about the two types of Keys he’d seen; color Keys and stone Keys. All the color Keys, like the Red Key, seemed to be submissive, masochistic. And all the stone Keys...
Masaka! He suddenly choked on his cream soup, and Ashura pounded his back. The sex toys, the dildos, the whips--were they for *him* to use on his Master, rather than his Master on him?
This was...interesting.
And things only got more interesting as the meal wore on.
"So," the Pearl Key purred, batting his blonde lashes at Heero, "are you enjoying your stay, Heero-kun?" Ashura visibly stiffened at his side, gripping his spoon tightly. "But of course, Ashura is always...hospitable." He leered at the Japanese boy, trying to convey exactly what kind of hospitality the blonde Key offered.
"Shut up, bitch," Ashura snapped. "You’re just jealous."
"Of what?" the other boy laughed. "Skinny legs and a cock the size of a pin?"
"Why you--"
"Stop, both of you!"
Heero looked up to see Yalith float in serenely, hands folded into her kimono, a change from the two strategically placed bands she’d been wearing the other day.
"Dominic has warned all of you. There is to be no more fighting!" Her voice cracked and boomed, echoing ominously throughout the hall. A few vases perched precariously on tables tipped over and shattered; Heero repressed the urge to shiver. There was something...
Her eyes, darkening in anger, suddenly turned on him, fixing him in place with a deadly glare. Heero felt his chest constrict, pressing painfully against him as if he were being crushed beneath a building. There was power in that stare.
"Finish your meal, all of you," she snapped. "Heero, I must speak with you. Now." She shot a look at Ashura, silencing his unvoiced protest, and grabbed Heero’s arm firmly, hauling him to his feet. She pulled him along so swiftly that he knocked the chair over as he rose, and then Yalith was leading him into the hallway, pushing him against the wall. He had no time to speak, to struggle; it was as if the will had been sapped from his body. Footsteps echoed in the distance, a strange silhouette cast on the floor and Yalith pressed up against him, covering his mouth with hers...
darkness
*pain*
trowa
trowa.
trowa!
light
it...
it hurts...
trowa...
someone.
anyone.
help me...
"Commander Joy..." The young pilot, looking no older than 16 at best, 13 at worst, paused before his superior, head bowed. "We have two prisoners taken during the battle."
The man known only as Darius Joy nodded absently, chewing on the end of a pencil. "Put them in separate cells. Determine whether or not they are with OZ; if they are not, try and bend them to our cause."
The subordinate saluted sharply and marched proudly from the tiny office. A shadowed figure stepped out from behind a burgundy curtain, judiciously avoiding the random papers strewn all over the floor and the broken glass from the many windows. Instead, wood boards were nailed to the gaping holes in the walls...for the time being. Darius wasn’t about to relinquish his only chance at revenge.
"They get younger and younger every day," a soft voice said, almost sadly. Almost. There was no room for weakness, no place for sorrow in a war. Darius turned round and smiled wanly at his lover, motioning for him to step forward.
"Aa, but if they serve our purpose..." Darius shrugged, his eyes flashing dangerously. "They must be stopped, Armand. There is nothing else to it."
Armand said nothing, but settled next to the tall commander, noting the fine lines around his eyes where before there had only been perfect, unblemished youth. So recently... War had changed them both, it seemed.
"Has she sent any word?" Darius paused, as if testing the air for those who would listen at keyholes, and finally spoke.
"She has. She’s gotten two of them inside...it won’t be long, now. Pierce and Sarsis called earlier--they think the prisoners are the two remaining Gundam pilots."
"Then it won’t be long?" Armand asked hopefully.
"Iie, little one, it will be over, one way or another, very soon." Darius pulled the other man into a tight embrace, rocking him gently. Armand was not meant for worldly life, he thought.
"Not long at all."
"Are you one of the Gundam pilots?" Pierce got down on his knees to stare directly into Trowa’s face. The brown-haired boy shrugged indifferently, his arms crossed over his chest, legs manacled to an iron chair.
"You have to be. OZ was expecting an attack from the Gundams--the base is essential in Mobile Suit technology development. You *must* have known," he insisted again. "We have the Gundams, no-name. And we have your fellow pilot, a pretty little boy with pretty blonde hair and the bluest eyes." There was no visible reaction, except for a brief tightening of the jaw. Pierce nodded at his lover, who sat in a chair in a darkened corner, face expressionless. There would be no violence, he promised himself. He was close to cracking without it...
"I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt him," Trowa said simply.
"We haven’t," Pierce assured him. "However, his injuries from the battle itself are extensive and could be fatal if not treated quickly."
Sarsis coughed and stood slowly, his long legs unwinding gracefully from beneath him. "I can help him," he offered, flipping his dark hair over his back. "If you’ll let me, I’ll help you too," he added, eyes sincere. Trowa considered for a moment.
They could be lying.
Worse, they could be telling the truth. Had it been only himself caught in this precarious position...
"I need to see Quatre," he said stonily. Pierce opened his mouth to deny his request, then saw the younger man’s face. He looked unhappy, mouth set in a fine line of tension, hands clenched into small fists resting at his hips.
"Fine. No funny stuff," he warned, unlocking his leg manacles.
light
pain
trowa
trowa!
trowa’s here
trowa
help me
help me
it hurts
ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtshelpmehelpmehelpme
"Quatre," Trowa breathed, wrapping his long arms around his waist. "Quatre! Wake up, Quatre. You need to wake up now." Pierce and Sarsis watched in amazement as the tall pilot coaxed him into waking, though he seemed no better for it.
"Trowa," he croaked, throat dry. "Something’s...breaking inside me..."
Then, the pilot of Heavyarms turned and fized Sarsis with a piercing stare. "You promised," he said simply.
"I did," he replied simply, and knelt before Quatre, hiding his surprise at how young they both were.
They get younger and younger every day, he thought, before he laid his hands on Quatre’s body and began to work.
It never ceased to amaze him, Pierce thought as he leaned against the doorway, how beautiful his lover was, after all these years. Especially when he was healing, when a calm of serenity surrounded him and he set about healing one perched on the brink of death. A white light filled the room, crackling and hissing, weaving into intricate flows and patterns, becoming a lattice that only Sarsis could manipulate.
His brow furrowed in concentration, the dark-haired man closed his eyes and felt for the natural lines of energy and power running through the boy’s body. They were tangled, from fear and pain and distress and his injuries. He reached a slender, tanned hand to his collarbone, pinching slightly. Quatre inhaled sharply, and Trowa shot Sarsis a warning glare that promised slow death with a blunt spoon.
The white line, pulsing like a river of life, running horizontal across his shoulders abruptly relaxed, settling back into familiar places. The blonde boy relaxed slightly, wriggling his fingers. Trowa captured them in his, whispering kind words that only Quatre could hear. A gentle caress over his navel, and his ribs cracked and set themselves, bound with a healing white light that wound itself around the breaks.
Then Sarsis frowned. A ruptured appendix. *Shit.*
"Pierce, can you get me a clean cloth and some warm water?" His lover nodded and took off to find the necessary items. While they waited, he spoke to Trowa, eyes knowing.
"How long have you been together, may I ask?" he inquired politely. Trowa seemed surprised, then his face relaxed into a small smile, squeezing Quatre’s hand.
"Almost a year," Quatre choked out, a pleased smile spreading over cherry-colored lips even as he gasped in pain.
Sarsis wiped a drop of sweat from his brow; he’d never held this much power for such a long time before. He felt ready to drop into a deep sleep; but he had to wait until Quatre was seen to. He could not do otherwise and still sleep at night.
Pierce returned and handed the cloth and water, in a small bowl, wordlessly to him. Sarsis caressed his hand with his thumb as he drew away in unspoken thanks. Pierce simply nodded and returned to his place by the door.
Sarsis closed his eyes. Merciful mother, he prayed, and then he reached out his hand and *squeezed* the life line that ran perpendicular to his ribs, pushing out the tainted mass. Quatre bit his lip to keep from screaming, and passed out, head limp in the other pilot’s lap.
At last, Sarsis released his power with a sizzling display of light and sound that never failed to amaze him. Had he done it--? Had it succeeded?
"Pierce. I--"
Then the ground was rushing up to meet him, and all went dark as warm arms slid around his waist.
Duo gasped as he saw a blonde girl bent over Heero, his Heero, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, hands pressing Heero’s wrists above his head. He’d gone out to find him, and instead found this? He made a disgusted sound.
"I don’t know who you are, lady, but I’d appreciate it if you’d--" All words died away as her face came into view.
"You!" he sputtered, pointing, eyes blinking rapidly. "What are you doing here? With Heero?" he added diplomatically, noting the way Heero quickly wrest himself from her hold. She watched, slightly amused, as Heero moved to stand beside him. Duo felt a flush of pride that he’d chosen him, Duo.
"I thought you were someone else," she admitted. Duo just shook his head.
"Why did you give me this?" he asked. "The real reason, please."
Yalith frowned, peering down the hallways, holding up her hand in warning as voices neared. "Heero’s room. Now." With that, she took off at a light job down the damp stone corridors, moving out of their range of vision in mere seconds.
Duo hadn’t realized he was staring until Heero tugged on his sleeve. "Let’s go," he said grimly, and together they made their way back towards his room, where they would finally learn the truth.
Pierce simply shrugged. "Sar--he helped your friend. Now you do your part." The brown-haired pilot nodded slowly, leaning back against the bed, stroking Quatre’s hair away from his slightly fevered face. Only rest could help him along the rest of the way to full health.
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"Start from the beginning," the older man urged, and he nodded.
"My name is Trowa Barton. I came to Earth as a pilot for Project Meteor over a year ago in a plot to destroy OZ and the Earth Sphere Alliance. I receive orders from a source whose name I am not at liberty to discuss. I am a Gundam pilot; my Gundam is 03.
"Quatre is also a Gundam pilot. The other three pilots are..." He paused. "Heero was captured a few days ago. The other two pilots went after him and we came to Siberia. We came to destroy the base, found your people here, and were overwhelmed against the combined forces.
"That is all." Pierce studied him carefully, looking for signs of nervousness, lying, or even fear. He found nothing.
Not even carefully schooled expressionlessness. Just nothing. As if Trowa couldn’t even feel anything. But that wasn’t right; his arm was around the pretty blonde’s shoulders, warming him with his own body.
"We want you to help us," he said bluntly. Trowa didn’t look surprised.
"Why?"
The question was simple. It’s so simple, Pierce thought, trying to stem back the rising panic within him, it’s so simple for him to ask why. He didn’t live through it...he doesn’t know...
"Revenge," he said quietly, his voice like iron. Trowa nodded, seeing the strange look in the older man’s eyes. Revenge for Sarsis, no doubt.
"We will help." Quatre struggled to sit up, blinking his wide blue eyes rapidly. Trowa frowned at him and fussed about, telling him that he shouldn’t be up, he should be resting. Pierce smirked--it was an all-too familiar scene. He turned to go, shooting one last look at the two trembling boys lying on the bed, and fought down a shiver of premonition. Damn it! He let out a pained moan as that familiar white hot pain lanced through his mind, raking over his memories, forcing him into submission to its will.
"Hey," Trowa called. "Hey!" Pierce gritted his teeth against the whiteness that hovered at the edge of consciousness, threatening to send him diving over...
"I’m fine, kid. Worry about the blonde boy," he said, and somehow managed to limp out of the room, down the hallway, and into the rooms he and Sarsis had chosen once they’d taken over the base.
"Pierce!" his smaller lover cried, rushing towards him, feeling the weakness and sickness that coursed through him. "Here, lie down," he said, leading him to their bed, propping him up against the pillows.
"Another one?" Pierce nodded, then gasped at the pain that sharp movement caused him. "Don’t fight it, love. You can’t fight it. It always hurts you more in the end," Sarsis urged him, rubbing his temples soothingly.
It was true. He was right...
Pierce slipped slowly into the whiteness, wondering mindlessly if this would be the time he would fall into the madness and find himself unable to return.
End Part Two
Sorry...It’s a little odd...
First draft and all...
Feedback appreciated. ^_^
Ariana
Please send comments to: weirdsisters@hotmail.com