Standard disclaimers apply: Direct translation? I own nothing, except my insanity. I wanna keep that. ^_~
Warnings: Everything imaginable... There can't pick at me now can ya? *Smirks* Flames will be used to heat up my poor freezing bedroom.
Suing is absolutely pointless unless you really *really* want my annoying bird *grins*
Thoughts are indicated by / . . . / (Ahh the joys of messing with minds...)
Quick explanations: In part one something has happened to Duo, pay close attention to physical descriptions. Still confusing? Keep reading! ^_^;;
It was early morning. A gentle breeze waning, playing with the curtains of the partly opened hotel window. At two stories up the room that Heero had picked not only provided ideal get-away but it also showed a rather nice view of the ocean. With the sun rising at the other side of the hotel it had seemingly begun painting the sea in an almost purplish maze of watercolor.
Quatre grimaced. Absently staring out the window again. He was waiting for some kind of depreciation from Trowa.
Something.
Anything would be better than this speculation. But he already knew the answer. Even if it hurt like hell, he knew. But that wasn't going to stop him from helping out, just a bit.
He knew better than to expect one but he was waiting none-the-less. When silence continued to wane Quatre turned.
"Well fuck! Trowa just what are we supposed to do then?"
"Nothing."
Nothing.
Well what else could Trowa say? "Yes Quatre! Brilliant idea lets drag Duo off the street, tie him up and shove lots and lots of painful memories down his throat!" Not quite but Quatre just could not stand the idea of just sitting here twiddling his thumbs --when he could sense something was wrong. Seriously wrong with the American ex-pilot-and DO NOTHING.
He had seen it before held deep within that violet gaze-- such a violent storm attacking that fragile heart. To have all of that bound inside... with no one to turn to. That feeling of all alone that made Quatres very nerve endings scream. Quatre had been keeping a covert eye on Duo since the first moment he'd had the amazing chance to glimpse into that haze of confusion.
There was no one there for Duo. Otherwise why would Duo have curled up into such a tight ball out there on that bench? Alone. And it was Bullshit.
This morning when Wufei had finally broken past the fever, waking for a few hours and demanding that his clothes be returned-- Quatre had left the room in search of more towels taking the opportunity to look out into the parking lot for that jeep he'd seen Duo take off in.
It wasn't there. Duo hadn't come back last night. Finally after hours of pacing back and forth from the hall window to the room-- he'd decided to inform Trowa only to get no response. Not even Wufei would help him with this one saying that the American was not their responsibility anymore and that Quatre would be a fool to attempt dragging Duo into this shithole of a mess they'd been thrown in.
At Quatre's scowl Trowa tried to offer some sort of explanation. "Heero will be back soon and we need to be able to leave at a moments notice. . . I can not take Wufei by myself."
"Bullshit." Quatre replied turning his back to Trowa again. Placing himself so as to stare menacingly out at the color filled haze of ocean again.
Trowa sat across the room. A small dinette table had been provided. He was sitting there also scowling. Giving his halfway full rum glass such a smoldering look that Trowa was almost surprised that the whole thing didn't just burst into flames.
He'd be damned before he let Duo into this life. Hell, they were already fucked three ways to Sunday! And, of course, Quatre just wouldn't use his head. With Quatre it was always the heart. It didn't matter how many times the lil shit got himself hurt.
Constantly throwing himself in with such reckless abandon-Trowa couldn't help but chuckle at this, drawing another rather discussed scowl from the blond at the window.
It was already seven thirty in the morning and Wufei had drifted back asleep. Thank god at least someone was getting sleep. Wufei'd woken up just enough this morning to tell Quatre that Duo didn't need a keeper before falling quickly back into oblivion.
As it was Trowa had been woken up this morning by Quatre's restlessness. He'd noticed the blond taking such an interest in Duo that this argument had been damned to happen.
He'd noted Quatre's constant excuses to leave the room. The way Quatre would draw his brows together in frustrated confusion at what Duo was doing. The way it hurt Quatre that he couldn't just go ask.
It had been difficult for Quatre to understand two years ago-- it was even more difficult now.
No matter how many times Trowa attempted to convince himself that the American was no longer their concern, his heart kept telling him otherwise. He too felt as if something were wrong but he would be damned!
Why did life have to be so fucking complicated? And Quatre so damned stubborn?
Trowa leaned back in his wooden chair, crossing his arms and scowling deeper. He couldn't help but feel that some twisted, thoughly deranged, part of himself was laughing it's ass off right now.
Not far across the room Quatre had been feeling much the same.
Being able to stand this frustrated silence no longer Quatre stormed from the room leaving behind a thoughly confused Trowa and a chuckling Wufei.
At Trowa's large eyed, open mouthed gaze, Wufei had found it in him to stop laughing just long enough to shake his head at Trowa.
"Let it be Trowa. We're all stressed."
"Damn him!" Trowa punctuated his frustration by slamming his fist down onto the table. "And who the hell said you could move?!"
It was an endless sea of chaotic emotion. The summit-- infinity and back again.
The very fabric of life raging through his veins.
Painful blows stealing what little air came to his lips.
It was blood.
Was power.
He was gagging, drowning in air.
Choking to the point of oblivion . . . but he didn't care.
It was the sweet justice of pain filled slices of memory biting into flesh.
Ripping and tearing, ravaging his mind, his soul, and his body-- it was what he deserved.
Torment had never been so exquisite.
So deserved in its rage, it's hate, its love . . .
Emotion was there. Pouring through him. Licking at the fires of his broken mind.
Bits and pieces of memory were flooding his mind . . . .To begin with they had brought him down to his knees screaming. His throat was raw with the effort, no longer even producing whimpers as he watched. Blood, ashes, the smells of death and decay. It was all around him.
They had all died. All burned because of him. The smiling innocent faces that retained beauty even in death. The gentle hands that had cared for him-- covered in blood . . .. All because of him. His inability to love, to give even the slightest damn.
His hands covered in the blood of countless. His semen mixed with the blood of innocence.
He was hell for so many.
He emanated pure evil.
Satan's son.
He was death . . ..
Leaning back, enlisting a tiny moan from an old wooden chair, Sahera smiled. It wasn't a kind smile, not one filled with love and laughter. No. But a smile filled with the kind of hate, blood lust that takes years to achieve.
A raging tempest of hate, that had consumed the passion, the very innocence of a young girl. Now, that passion had turned into a blood filled rage. Consuming everything within its path. The innocence to perversion. The girl, into a mere shadow of a woman. All happening within such a short time span. Then again not less than six years ago she had been the embodiment of innocence. An Angel.
Hoping to bring peace, innocence back to these humans. They were after all the ancestors of the Angels. Having been hidden away for so many years the humans had forgotten about their ever existing. According to the elders records things would have been covered by these deceit filled humans long ago.
However Sahera's generation had felt different. Hoping to bring tranquillity to these humans as the prophet had ordained. The prophet had been a damned fool. They were all fools! Sahera had had the privilege of learning her lesson long ago.
Seven years to be exact. When they'd first made contact. Those Oz patrols had taken in the Angel's Peace Delegate with open arms. Promises of wonder dripping from their bloodied lips. Lips that would pillage, violating until their was nothing left. Only despair and hopes of vengeance had gotten her this far.
Although Sahera would have liked to have believed herself the most opportune candidate for the job-- She hadn't even seen it coming. She should have known not to trust such vile creatures as humans. The elders had made it perfectly clear that the humans were the embodiment of evil itself.
They were the ones left behind. The ones that never had evolved, never becoming something more. She'd never even had a chance to speak of these things with the humans. The moment those men had gotten her alone....
Sahera grimaced, shuddering at those memories. Her first lesson of humanity and it's ways.
Sahera's grimace turned into a smile as she eyed her quarry lying helpless in the bed next to her chair. He was a pretty little thing. Albeit a little thin but that was only to be expected. Although he has stopped screaming a few hours ago Sahera could still hear a tiny whimper here and there.
Certain that *now* she had broken him Sahera began to lovingly stroke the spider silk of chestnut that gracefully cascaded down his back. How she could have once been afraid of him. How she had been afraid.
By the time she was finished he would be begging to do what ever she asked-- Even killing those of whom he didn't even know he loved . . ..
That would bring her even greater satisfaction. He wouldn't even know until it was to late!
She'd seen enough into his mind. Those other four Gundam pilots had been all he ever cared for, the rest were dead by his hand . . . strange that she hadn't had to plant *that* into his head, that he already believed those deaths to be on his hands. Impossible that this human could feel anything honest. Like remorse.
That was *if* she ever allowed him to probe his own mind. He would suffer for what he had done to her. She couldn't care less about what he'd done to those disgusting humans. Her smile darkened, ebony eyes growing narrower.
But now he belonged to her. He would believe the truth as she showed it to him. He would become aware of the pain he had so lovingly inflicted upon the innocent, and now he would feel that same pain.
"The truth can hurt like such a son of a bitch."
"Can it not?"
"Duo?"
The last -- whispered into his ear. Spoken with a lover's caress. Sahera would treat him tenderly. With such gentleness that it could only hurt that much more when she let him fall. And fall he would . . . . When she was through with his mind. His heart, his very soul all of him had to be destroyed. Just as he had helped to destroy her.
At first he had made her want it. To be abused. Punished. To feel the sensual sting of blood spilled.
She had watched it pool upon her wrists before vengeance had been vowed. Soon enough he would know the damage he'd caused. The evil he'd created. He would know his spawn. And he would watch it destroyed.
Fitting that he should take part in the destruction of something he'd created. Created with her blood. Instead of draining her of life he'd given her life back. Why had he taken pity upon such a wretched thing? If not to let *her* live with it. The despair the agony . . . . .
It hadn't exactly been easy finding him. This Duo Maxwell. But she'd known that they had had him. They'd probed him looking for her. Luckily the mind link had sustained even after such a long time. The psyche was strong with him. But he was weak in dealing with it . . . . .That had enabled her to prevent them from knowing.
Their link to her proved to them that she was still alive. The only way he could break it would be death. A death that she would gladly take if she didn't have two little hell spawn to protect. But she had to protect them. If only for their destruction. They would die. Then her own death would be most welcome. . . .
End Part 7
Krystal
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