July 3, 2000
Wah!
I just finished Part 10 of Superstar... I can't believe it's over! No more Heero as a popstar, no more Lt. Wufei. ;_; I'm sad now...
....because it means I actually have to start writing TDK and Cruel Intentions again...gr.... Not that I don't love both of the fics, but they're godawful long. I'm trying to get Cruel Intentions done before July 10. That's like my deadline...
....and I don't know why I'm boring you with this, but I thought you'd all enjoy being bored silly. ^^;
Okay...the last part tonight...
ja ne ~ana~
Dedicated to Mini, who always makes me laugh. ^_^
Warnings: OOCness. Severe severe OOCness. But hell, I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.
I've taken the...coughcough...liberty of using songs from the 1990's and the...er...00's. Pretend they're from AC 195.
For the best effects, listen to the song posted at the beginning of each part while reading. ^_^ This part's song is "Kitto Ok". I don't remember what CD it's from...
Duo's heart stopped as a hand reached into the tent, drawing aside the flaps. On his bed, Carlos whimpered as his hand accidentally brushed his wound. "Who's there?" Duo called, reaching under the bed for his gun.
"It's Trowa," a soft tenor announced. A green eye appeared, unblinking as Duo jumped up and crushed him into a bear hug. "Duo...?" he squeaked, trying to free his arms.
"Man, am I glad to see you! No offense, Carlos," he called.
"None taken." The Mexican boy gave a low moan as he shifted on Duo's cot. "This hurts like a--"
"Now now," Duo said soothingly, motioning for Trowa to approach the bed, "we don't want to frighten our friend here. This is Trowa--Trowa, Carlos." They exchanged awkward greetings and sat in silence for a long moment. "So, Quatre got taken too."
"Yeah. I saw Heero."
Duo cleared his throat. "And?" His voice came out clipped, almost anxious.
"And they took him too. He was dressed in your clothes, Duo. You're wearing his." The American looked down in surprise, running his hands over the dark denim. It still smelled like the Japanese boy, even. Something metallic and sexy that reminded him of nightclubs and beer and dancing.
"This makes no sense." Duo began dressing Carlos' wound systematically, wrapping thin strips of cotton around his middle. "I don't understand...I'm the soldier. *I'm* the soldier, damn it! And they took him." He tore off the end with a loud sccrip and tossed the ball of dressing under the bed.
"We've got to get them back," Trowa said reasonably, and Duo found himself praising the day the level-headed boy arrived at camp. "I've found a phone in Lt. Wufei's tent, but I don't know who to call."
"There's no use calling any of the other camps," Duo said slowly. "I'll bet anything they've been hit too."
"What about the Specials?"
Duo stared at Carlos in disbelief. "Are you insane?!?" he asked, clenching his hands to keep from shaking the Mexican boy. "The Specials? Yeah, they'd get us inside their camp, and they'd blow up half of our own men in the process!" He snorted. "The Specials indeed."
But he was persistent. "It might be the only way, man. They could be here by midnight if we called them now."
"Who're the Specials?" Trowa demanded.
"The Specials are a bunch of raving lunatics, piloting these huge mobile suits called Gundams. You can't trust any of them. They claim they're on our side, but they do as much damage to us as they do to Romafeller. Careless children, that's what they are." Satisfied, Duo crossed his arms over his chest, daring Carlos to disagree with him.
"But if they're our best option--"
"Our best option? The Gundams should be our *last* option," Duo disagreed. "We need to get Heero, at least, out of enemy territory. Can you imagine the publicity if Heero was killed? There'd be an outcry against Romafeller so big--" He paused.
"How long have you been here, Trowa?" The green-eyed dancer blinked twice, counting silently.
"Nine days. Why--"
"Can you think of anyone that would want Heero dead? Think like a detective, not like a dancer. Do you remember what happened to Dorotea Catalonia?" Trowa frowned. "The Latin pop singer?"
"Yeah--her mother murdered her for her money--" Trowa stopped short, shaking his head. "That's insane, Duo. Why would Dr. J want his own nephew dead?"
"The same reason--money! And a hell of a lot of it, too. The soldiers that came into our tent said that an aircraft was spotted that was supposedly carrying top secret documents. Nine days ago! Have any planes landed here in the past month except for Heero's?" He looked at Carlos expectantly; the wounded man shook his head.
"See! It all fits! Today is Heero's eighteenth birthday; all the money in his accounts used to be in care of Dr. J because he was a minor. But now he controls his money! That's the way the world works! But if Heero dies after the ceasefire is broken, even if it is by J himself, his only next of kin is--"
"Dr. J," Trowa finished severely. "If it didn't work, there would be nothing to incriminate him. And if it did... The world mourns for the kind uncle who lost the apple of his eye. But that would mean he was working with Romafeller--"
"Not exactly," Duo said, really getting into it now. "The world knows where both camps are stationed; it would be relatively easy to leak information like that and not get caught doing it. Notice how he high-tailed it out of here less than a day after arriving?"
"Knowing is all very well and good, but you have no proof, Duo." Carlos grunted in pain as he sat up, propping his elbows on the pillow. "You have to get Heero out of there alive; he's the only one that knows what's really going on. Call the Specials, damn it." Trowa handed Duo the cell phone wordlessly.
"I--" Unbidden, an image of Heero's not-quite-smiling face rose in his memory.
He pressed the power button, and began to dial with shaking fingers.
Heero choked as blood filled his mouth; he spat it out onto the sandy floor, barely missing his interrogator's shoe. Damn it, Duo, he thought angrily, why didn't you tell me you were a lieutenant? The double black bars on his sleeves had marked him as possibly important, and he and Wufei had been taken away from the rest of the group upon their arrival at their camp.
Well, he thought, since I'm not really Duo and I don't know anything of consequence I don't have to worry about giving anything away. Another blow, another mouthful of blood. He would have bruises marring his stomach and face for months. Dr. J would kill him...
He wondered if he would ever see the old man again.
"And you're telling me," the man continued, "that you know nothing about the plans that were secreted into your camp? Plans for a mobile suit?" He stuck his face in front of Heero's, almost menacingly. Heero, tied down to a chair, could only close his eyes. "You're a liar."
He tried to speak, but found his throat too dry. The man mistook his silence for rebelliousness and struck him again. "A Gundam, perhaps? We found the blueprints: this Gundam would have enough firepower to wipe out an entire Colony."
"I don't know," Heero croaked.
"You know." He motioned to two guards standing by the thick metal door. "Bring him in." Heero watch with a growing sense of horror as Quatre was thrown onto the floor, landing with a sickening crunch. "Now...tell me, Quatre, what did you do before the war?"
He mumbled something unintelligable, wringing his wrists. When he looked up, Heero saw that he had red burn marks marring the perfect white skin of his neck and arms. There was a wildness to his blue eye that had not been there before. Broken.
"Speak up," one of the soldiers commanded.
"I played the violin," the blond boy whispered.
"See? He played the violin, Lieutenant. Now, for every time you refuse to speak we will break one of his fingers. And I don't mean snapping them or anything clean like that; I mean crushing them beneath a four hundred pound weight." He looked pointedly at the heavier guard.
"No!" Heero looked around desperately. There had to be some way around this, something he could say that would save Quatre's fingers. Relena had once played the viola, beautifully she claimed. A child prodigy. She'd gotten her fingers crushed in a door hinge and had never touched another string. He supposed that was why she sang now; music was ingrained in her blood.
"I-I..." Quatre looked at him with a strained smile.
"Make your decision, Lieutenant, before we crush his thumbs."
They touched down ten minutes after midnight. Five dark shadows, flitting across the moon's face, landing in the field behind the mess tent. Their pilots emerged silently, wearing black body suits and black helmets, saying as little as possible.
There was space in two of the Gundams for an extra passenger; Carlos stayed behind, resting. Duo climbed in after the pilot, noting the way he moved gracefully, but dangerously. A fighter.
They followed the tracks of the tanks one hundred miles into the harsh desert, circling over the camp. It was lit up with bright lights and small bonfires circling the edges. There was a large, abandoned fortress surrounded by several tents; he could see small black dots that were undoubtedly Romafeller soldiers.
"We're going in," the pilot informed him coolly. He nearly had a heart attack; the voice was female!
"O-Okay," he stuttered, although he had the feeling it wouldn't have mattered if he'd agreed or disagreed. With a loud battle cry, they swooped down into the camp.
Heero stared in disbelief at his fallen friend. The blonde boy sat rocking back and forth in his cell, clutching his broken fingers. After breaking all of Quatre's fingers, they had apparently decided that Heero didn't know anything and released both of them. He hissed as he felt the bones in his wrist slide back and forth; broken. At least they weren't sticking out of the skin or anything.
"Quatre," Heero said softly. "I'm sorry." He looked at the Japanese boy with such a lost look about him it wounded him more deeply than any mortal weapon could. "They're going to rescue us, Quatre."
He nodded slowly, but said nothing.
"They are," Heero said again, staring at the small window that shed bits of moonlight into the cell. <Where are you, Duo?>
End Part Nine
Ariana
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