This has become some kinda monster of a fic...sheesh!
--ana
Darius sighed, pulling up his booted feet to rest on the desk that formerly had been Treize Khushrenada’s, sipping the wine he’d found in Treize’s room. There was no light in the room; it was almost midnight, and the power circuits had mostly been blown out by the battle.
Thing had progressed swiftly and according to plan--no move uncalculated, no player left underestimated. The Gundam pilots were resourceful, enough so that they would be able to find a way out of the Palazzio. His hand, criss-crossed with faint white scars up to the very tips of his pale fingers, fell to his hip, where the fingers caressed the outline of the Key. A dip here, and then the oval loop, and a smooth line down to the end.
He pitied the Gundam pilot that had been Marked; it was a rather unpleasant, albeit necessary, process that negated the power of the brand, as they had all discovered. Darius chuckled softly and poured himself another glass of wine.
There was a flash of white in his vision, and the glass dropped from his hand, cracking against the smooth plain of cherry. <Yalith,> he acknowledged, fingers groping for the large shards, trying to collect himself. <Is there a problem? You weren’t supposed to contact me for another hour.>
A pause, and then, <Darius. Treize has one of the Gundam pilots.> Her voice reverberated in his head, and he scowled at the blonde woman, though she was thousands of miles away. <Should I attempt to take him by force? You’re going to need all of them if you’re planning a full-scale attack.>
Though he knew Yalith could not see him, he shook his head. <No. He could turn on us at any moment; we don’t need that kind of liability. Four should be enough.>
<But if he fights for Dominic...? It could be a disaster-->
<We’ll deal with that later,> Darius cut in firmly. <For now, I want you to get the Gundam pilots out of the Palazzio. Meet at the rendezvous point we worked out before.>
<But the 5th pilot-> Yalith stopped.
<Forget about him. Concentrate on getting the others out.>
<I’ll be seeing you,> came the soft voice, and then the connection was cut.
"Would that it were easy to tell," Treize continued, eyes shutting in concentration. "I am not proud of the things I’ve done, dragon." Wufei watched his show impassively, arms crossed over his bare chest. "It is a sad and sordid tale."
"I was once young and impulsive...much like yourself. I did not like people telling me what I could and could not do. Who I could speak to at royal functions, the allies I could make, what I could wear. It was all planned out for me.
"My father had owned a Key at the Palazzio for some time and with his death I was bequeathed ownership. And I thought, ‘What need have I for a sex slave?’ I was handsome and in the prime of youth, not yet seventeen; I did not want nor need a slave at my beck and call.
"He was beautiful. Dark, raven hair, glowing green eyes. Perfect silk complexion. He would have changed me for the better, I think. Had he lived." Treize bowed his head, dark locks falling around his face in sorrowful falls, and Wufei reached out a hand to comfort him. He did not want to, yet there was a part of him that would not let such distress go unacknowledged.
"Do not seek to comfort me, my little dragon, for I was the one who killed him."
Wufei swallowed hard, and his tan hand jerked back involuntarily. Shame flooded through his veins at his own reaction; had he not killed thousands of soldiers in battle, ended so many lives without a thought to their justice? "How?"
"He was disloyal to me with one of the other Keys--the old Diamond Key. I was from spoiled aristocracy. No one had ever refused me anything; everything I could possibly want, save two things, were at my fingertips at all times.
"When he died, he was replaced by another boy, younger, less skilled, naïve at best. He arrived at the Palazzio unbroken--it was my task to break him.
"I tried everything, and was sure that I had succeeded when he attempted to kill me, leaving me bleeding and unconscious in my room. Somehow, though it should have been impossible, he escaped."
"Why is it impossible? The walls aren’t *that* high," Wufei said suspiciously. All this nonsense about Keys--! It seemed to him the only reason Keys existed was for domination by their partners. Truly a sick game, if he’d ever seen one.
"Preventive measures. It is impossible for a Key to live outside the Palazzio." Treize waved his hand dismissively, as if the Keys weren’t real people but objects to be hled and admired, then left to collect dust. "Not important, dragon. I was a terrible person. I’ve changed now."
The Chinese youth glanced skeptically at the former general of OZ. "Your words mean very little to me. They are passing clouds, bits of string and dust, signifying nothing. Would someone who had really changed find it so easy to disregard their past? You don’t sound repentent at all."
"But I am," Treize said earnestly.
"And there you go again! I’m sick of this war, of people claiming they’ve changed when all they’ve done is put a new name onto their powerplays and their self-serving brands of justice." Wufei’s eyes blazed with justice fever, glaring at the older ginger-haired man that sat across the feather-soft bed. "You’re no different from the rest of them, Khushrenada."
They sat there, glaring holes into each other’s foreheads, mouths tightened into thin, ungiving lines, neither saying a word. Who would be the first to give? Who would be the first to declare war, to raise their guns and squeeze the trigger?
And then someone knocked at the door.
Blood. He’d bled so much, it was incredible; who would have known that he had so much blood in him? It was red, staining the floor, dripping solemnly onto the Oriental rugs. His eyes were closed, and for the first time, Darius could see his Master’s face.
He wasn’t ugly at all, but had a kind of feline grace and dignity that was evident even as he lay in a pool of his own blood, lip curled in a half-sneer. Dead. Darius had killed him. The knife lay beside his Master, dipped in crimson.
He shivered, pulling the tattered robe tightly around his body, and knelt beside the body, reaching out to touch that ivory face, so cold and statue-like. The moment was almost surreal in its intensity.
Darius knelt beside him and felt for a pulse, eyes watching his own fingers as they wrapped around the man’s wrist. He held his breath--had he done it? Had he killed his own Master?
Panic began to set in. He would surely be killed now; the Palazzio tolerated no show of defiance. Decades ago, several Keys had attempted to escape and had been put to death for it, slowly roasted over a fire for seven days.
He looked back at the older man’s face, and froze in shock, his jaw working frantically, trying to scream, trying to force that freeing sound past his chapped lips. The dead man’s eyes were wide open, and he could see the sapphire blue now, the flecks of red and gold in the irises. A bony hand, now one stripped bare of flesh and sinew, reached out and clamped around his throat. Darius screamed and screamed, but no one came, and then he felt the fingers tighten around his windpipe and everything went black, but the red flecks were still dancing in his eyes, and he knew them for what they were.
He woke up screaming for the fifth time that week.
Gathering the mass of squirming young man into his arms, Armand sighed and stroked his lover’s hair gently, kissing all around his eyes and face, careful not to touch his neck. That dream again, then. It wasn’t fair; war had changed Darius from the naïve boy, more than he ever would have imagined. He should have discouraged his plans of vengeance, of destruction. But when they’d escaped, all he could see was the fire that burned within his eyes again, after being dampened for so long.
Careful hands soothed the fear from his body, slowly easing the tension from his shoulders with strong fingers. Darius slept on, oblivious to the sounds of rain against his widow, as the Ruby Key guarded his sleep.
How had it gone this far?
How could he have let it grow to such proportions that it seemed to have a life of its own? Revenge was cold, meaningless; it had nothing to do with justice and everything to do with raw emotions, stripped down to the very core. Long ago, he’d sworn to protect Darius.
It seemed the only person he had to protect Darius from was himself. His inner demons ate at him constantly--he threw himself into his work, into the mission, planning, conquering, strategizing, outthinking, outplanning his opponents. In a way, it amazed Armand that his lover could do such things. No human was meant to speak directly into another’s mind, to pick through another person’s memories and slice threads, eliminating evidence, sometimes paralyzing someone with few psychic defenses for life.
There was a ruthlessness within the brighty burning fire of his soul that parodied Treize’s too closely. It was often said that one seeking to destroy another can only do so by becoming that despised thing. And he feared that it was true, that he was losing Darius to his cause.
In his arms, the said man stirred restlessly, blinking the sleep from his eyes until they focused on him. he said, a small yawn escaping him as he started to stretch.
"You know I don’t like it when you do that," the blonde Key said softly.
"I know. Sorry." Darius yawned an apology, and suddenly leaned forward, capturing his lips, arms twining around his waist as he shifted in his grasp, bare skin sliding over bare skin in a liquid motion that made a pleasant shock run through him straight to his cock.
They made love for hours, resting as the dawn rose to greet the dusk, letting their heads pillow together in an uneasy dream of pearly darkness and flashing lightning. And overhead, a storm was gathering.
"And?" Duo asked impatiently. After talking non-stop for over half an hour, the words spilling from her mouth like oyster pearls, Yalith had suddenly stopped, hands resting delicately on her lap, eyes unfocused. "Hello?"
"Duo," Heero reprimanded, and Duo grinned unabashedly, but flashed the V-for-victory sign to let the Japanese Key know that orders were understood, over and out. Heero was so cute when he was grimly disciplinary; it drove Duo crazy. He fought down the urge to glomp Heero and instead sighed, twirling the gold-streaked end of his braid around long slim fingers.
"This place scares me," Duo sighed, trying to make conversation as they waited for Yalith to snap out of her trance. She swayed once, and they both held their breath, waiting for some sign that she’d emerged from her catatonic state. Instead, her hands clenched and unclenched twice, falling limp at her sides.
"I thought she said we were in a hurry," the American complained again. "I wanna hear the end of the story!" His eyes glittered dangerously as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "What does this have to do with you, anyway?"
Heero shrugged. "We’ll find out." As the silence stretched on, Heero became increasingly aware of Duo's proximity and shifted uneasily, running his hands through dark hair and growling as they tugged through several snarls, no doubt from his little encounter that ended with him flat on his back and Duo leaning over him eagerly like a lion over fresh meat.
"Say Heero," Duo finally said.
"Yeah?"
"You know, we never finished...ah...what we were doing." Duo’s eyebrows fingers waggled at him invitingly. Heero watched him, slightly amused at the poor boy’s play for attention.
"You want to?" Heero couldn’t keep the teasing lilt from his tone; another weakness. Yet for some strange reason, it didn’t bother him one bit, which should have disturbed him even more. The soldier was abandoning his programming, and loving every minute.
"Sure I want to!" Duo exclaimed, a huge smile spreading over his face, and pounced.
[Several minutes later.]
"You boys can’t keep out of trouble for more than five minutes?" Yalith asked, half-annoyed, half-bemused, as she slapped an ice pack onto Heero’s head, moisture soaking through the dark brown hair. When Duo had jumped Heero, he’d forgotten to take into account the fact that they were both sitting on the edge of the bed. Now Heero had a bump on his head the size of Antarctica and Duo still hadn’t gotten *any*. A very unfortunate turn of events, part of Duo noted.
"Well, I’ve got good news. We’re getting out of here."
The Gundam pilots exchanged looks.
"We have a few problems," Heero said dutifully. "I don’t have the emitter that controls <this>." He tapped the back of his neck. "And I don’t know how to get rid of <this>." Heero’s hand moved in a caressing motion over one slim hip, over the bone that protruded from its center.
Yalith made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, a sensual cross between a growl and a snort. Either way, it made Duo uneasy. How did they know who they could trust? He’d learned in his lifetime that duplicity and double-crossing had a lot to do with who survived and who didn’t, who prospered and who languished in the poverty-stricken ghettos.
"The emitter will be taken care of. As for the Key, how did you think Darius and the others escaped?" She waved a hand carelessly. "Their brands didn’t just disappear." The blonde-haired servant looked up through the sun-roof and sighed. "We don’t have much time. We’d better get going. Follow close behind, and keep your heads down. If we run into Dominic, we might have to make a run for it."
Duo nodded, and started as cool fingers slipped between his. Yet the pilot of Wing Zero wouldn’t meet his eyes. He smirked; ah. There was a reason he’d fallen in love with Heero Yuy afterall...
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
In a fit of anxiety, Quatre slammed his tea cup down onto the table, causing the entire piece of furniture to rattle uncontrollably. Even a cup of Earl Grey couldn’t help curb the feeling that was growing inside of him, eating away at his soul.
Heero and Duo were in trouble. So was Wufei, but he’d never been that close to the Chinese pilot, and couldn’t feel anything from him other than a constant beacon of distress and flickering fear alternated with hope.
"It’s been three days," Quatre snapped to no one in particular. From the bed, Trowa’s eyes opened slowly, focusing on his lover.
Sometimes Trowa couldn’t understand Quatre. He had everything anyone--well, Trowa--could ever want, and he’d become a Gundam pilot. He could easily understand his father’s anger; if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he’d done it on a whim, a childish fancy that insisted it be fulfilled.
"Heero and Duo are both trained Gundam pilots. What could happen to them that you or I could handle better than them?" Trowa reasoned, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear absently, and hoping that Quatre would listen to him. Or else the rest of the tea set would suffer the same fate as the cup that lay in ruins beneath the makeshift table.
"They haven’t told us anything, Trowa. I think this was a bad idea," the blonde heir blurted out, worrying his lip frantically, as if that simple action would save their friends all by itself. How could Trowa just sit there and meditate?!? He was so calm, so collected, ever the Perfect Soldier. Nothing got to him, not even the boredom of 72 hours of nothing but tea, rain, and the knowledge that something terrible was going down and he couldn’t do anything about it.
"You can’t worry so much, Quatre. They’ll be okay."
"You can’t feel them like I do!" Quatre exploded, whirling around so he was facing the wall. "You can’t feel it when Duo’s scared, or when Heero’s angry. You don’t know, Trowa." Drawing in a deep breath, he shut his eyes as another wave of fear penetrated his defenses.
Instead of replying to his sharp comment, Trowa nodded stoically and went back to counting the beads on the bedspread. There was nothing else to do.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The basement was dark and damp, and smelled of mold and old cheese. "Yuck," Duo said in disgust as he felt something furry run over his boot, rubbing momentarily against his bare skin.
But he was still holding Heero’s hand. Holding Heero’s hand! He’d hoped that the other boy had returned his feelings, had debated and analyzed his every action to the point where even Trowa had threatened to throw him to the lions if he didn’t shut up. Easy enough for them to say, the disgruntled American thought, they were in a solid relationship. His was just beginning on fledgling wings that could so easily be crushed.
She led them deeper and deeper into the very heart of the Palazzio, past doors that creaked like they hadn’t been touched in decades, under arches covered in cobwebs and creepy-crawly things that made Duo’s skin itch. He’d never been very good around insects or snakes; he was a Gundam pilot. What other proof of courage did anyone need?
Heero’s mind was a blur of images and sounds, sensory detail enhanced until it clouded out his perception, taking over his vision and his mind. He clung to Duo’s hand like a silvery lifeline; without it, he would have stumbled long before.
Had it always been there? he wondered. Duo. Love. Duo. Heero shook his head, sending a piece of hair flying into Duo’s face. The other boy snorted and smoothed the stray strand back into place, fingers brushing over his cheek. Where his hands had touched his skin, there was an electrifying tingle, like a blush, but more intense.
He was attracted to Duo, he was sure of that. And he knew Duo was attracted to him, unless the past few days had been a sick hallucination. Shrugging, he shoved the issue aside to deal with at a later time. Now was not the time to get distracted.
Yalith.
Was she a friend, an enemy? Just another person out to use them, to use their skills and their Gundams? There was something different about her, something supernatural that made his jaw lock and his eyes narrow. Just something; it was infuriating to him, because he couldn’t put his finger on it. The words always eluded his grasp.
One last door opened and Yalith ushered them inside, pulling down on a lever hard as they passed. A stone wall descended from within the arch, effectively trapping them inside, and keeping unwanted visitors out.
Yalith turned to them, her eyes glowing in the darkness, hands outstreched. One by one, torches set up in a ring around the stone amphitheater flared to life as she spoke, her words low, voice hollow.
"It’s time that you found out the truth."
End Part Five
Ariana
Please send comments to: weirdsisters@hotmail.com