Thoughts are denoted by /..../ Flashbacks are denoted by //...//
Numbers are important in the symbolism and magics of Voodou. One of the most sacred numbers is the number three. It is thought to be originated from the idea of the Marassa (the light and dark twins) coming together to form the Dousso/Doussa - a powerful being that is considered both individual and three all at once. The most sacred of numbers is the number nine, as it is three, three times over.
To the outside observer, Heero seemed to watch Duo with outward dispassion. Although it could be said that there WAS a part of him that was as dispassionate as he appeared. That part of him clinically observed the goings-on, noticing Catherine's pale face, Trowa's slight shift of features from a mix of annoyance or indifference to vague interest and surprise.
Noticed the differences in Duo himself. The change seemed cleaner, almost more of a mental seizure than the physical attack that had happened the day before.
The first time he was fighting whatever had happened. He'd collapsed to the floor as if in a mortal struggle with something within him. Heero had noted Duo's wild eyed reaction to being told he'd had a seizure, so he'd shown his old partner a bit of mercy and grossly underestimated the violence of the attack the American had suffered.
This time though... Heero's brow furrowed.
'He was running away. He wanted it to happen,' Heero thought. An irrational anger swelled up in Heero at the thought, boiling just below the surface of his impassive mask.
"Damn it! Where did he go?" Catherine was looking around wildly. "I just looked away for a second! He's not safe like that!"
Heero and Howard shared a look, for once in perfect understanding. Howard stepped forward, his hand spread wide in apology.
"I'm sorry miss, he can do that if he wants. He wont be found until he decides to come out again."
"Who IS he anyway?" She turned, pegging Howard to the spot. To his credit, Howard didn't quail. He never did when it came to Duo.
"Just another victim." He answered, exhaustion making his voice raw. Heero, for a second, thought he caught a flash of guilt or something similar speed across Howard's sharp features, but he dismissed it as foolish. This was Howard after all. He was probably just worried about the baka.
So was Heero, he discovered to his dissatisfaction. It was unacceptable.
"Trowa, would you go after him." Catherine asked, turning to her brother. The tall man seemed to consider a moment. Green eyes met cobalt for a moment, asking a single question. Almost imperceptibly, the Japanese man nodded, his respect for the quiet man jumping up another inch.
Trowa stood up and quickly brushed his hand along the top of his sisters, before melding into the shadows and leaving for what the others could only assume was the direction that Duo had slipped off in.
"Heero, aren't you going to ..."
Heero cut off the question with a sharp shake of his head. "I only came out of curiosity." He paused for a moment, trying halfheartedly to sift through the jumble of emotions that the American managed to stir in him. Finally, he simply turned from the others, not caring what they did. He was going home. "Let him run away if he wants."
In more ways than one.
Trowa made his way along the topside streets, eating up the miles with a long loping stride. He slid easily from crowded boulevards to deserted alleys without a single raised eyebrow. Here was his element and he reveled in the power that came from being carefully non descript. A wolf in fleece.
The trail he was following was difficult. Duo's progress was fast and erratic. He never seemed to make up his mind about where he was heading.
He didn't seem all that intent on hiding where he'd been though, Trowa though wryly, gazing at a long and impossibly clean gouge in a brick wall.
So intent on the trail, and his own silence, he was startled by a soft and gentle voice breaking it.
"Hi."
Trowa's stride faltered as he came to a less than graceful stop. A greeting, but no one ever greeted each other here, unless they were old friends, and there was only one person here.
Maybe he meant elevation... but that didn't make sense either.
Blinking, he turned to focus on the origins of the voice, a short golden haired teen, who was smiling up at him.
"Hi!" The boy repeated.
Trowa hesitated, watching this strange blonde uncertainly. He seemed so out of place on the dirty streets, like an angel strolling through Hell.
"My name is Quatre Raberba." The blonde man smile softly. "And you?"
"I..." Trowa shook himself mentally. "Trowa."
"Oh good! Nice to meet you Trowa. I thought I'd never find another."
/Another person? There was a whole crowd roaring their daily business not a block away./
"I was wondering if you could help me out a bit."
The tall Latino tried to get a hold of his whirling thoughts, to find a focus in the riotous chaos that was his mind at the moment.
He shouldn't be doing this, should be listening, or hanging on the little man's every word. He was a gringo, an outsider, not one of the pack. Beyond that, he'd just met the petite teen.
Still, he drowned every time he looked into those fathomless lapis lazuli eyes.
"... and it seems to foreign to me," the object of Trowa's debate was saying, and obviously had been speaking for quite a while. Trowa frowned inwardly.
/How could I miss a word!?/
/Why should I care if I do or don't?/
/Why DO I care.../
"So can you?" Quatre looked up at him hopefully. Trowa stared at the blonde teen, his eyes filling with confusion and panic. Quatre chuckled softly and took pity. "Can you tell me about life here?"
Trowa leaned back unconsciously. So much he had to protect, so much broken inside and outside. But something in him resonated with every word Quatre spoke. That tightly drawn thread of his soul had been plucked and was singing a counterpoint sweeter than any flute could produce.
Despite everything, he trusted the blond boy.
With what, with a little imagination, could pass for a smile, Trowa began to speak.
Three hours later, Quatre rushed down the winding streets, intent on the upper-class section of L2, one massive building in particular.
The familiar presence of the Mangunaks in the shadows was of little comfort to him tonight. He enjoyed their protection and loyalty, but for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't want it. He wanted to run across some street gang, or fall through a weak spot in the flooring of the colony. Something, anything.
/Enough, I've got what he wants. I can get the corporation back./
/And run things better than he ever could./ A sickly version of his own mental voice put in.
/No! I'm going to fix the damage, before it's too late./
/Keep telling yourself that, Daddy's Boy./
Quatre squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, banishing the voices. He couldn't understand why he felt so terrible. He was finally getting what he wanted.
/But at what price?/
"It doesn't matter," he whispered to himself, in panting breaths, knowing that his footfalls themselves would cover the sound.
Vivid green eyes haunted him. Eyes of a stranger whom he had manipulated.
Quatre was no fool. He saw the layers of hurt, the mistrust pooling in those broken and expressive green eyes. He felt even worse for using the gift that Professor H had given him to slip past those defenses. But this was important. He had the names now, and the agreement would be sealed.
Duo Maxwell. Heero Yuy.
/More strangers,/ Quatre thought, /So why do I feel so terrible for them./
Resolving himself, he slowed his pace to a walk, strolling through an immaculate garden of roses and back into the arms of the enemy.
Chang Wufei stalked the perimeters of the Festival, his shoulders hunched a bit tighter than usual, his stride a bit more forceful.
He hated the tension these five days caused in him. He swore that by the end of the night on November first, he had gained a new stomach ulcer and lost at least another centimeter of hair. A rather unfair trade off in his mind.
Someone had to do it though. Those fools among the tents and stalls would never think of it. All they wanted was to laugh and dance. To play games and gorge themselves while the colony died, festering from the inside out.
Wufei's lip curled slightly. There was no one else to keep the peace, to see to justice. Only him.
He touched the badge on the lapel of his shirt almost reverently.
He was roughly pulled from his reverie as an abrupt change in scenery spread across the roadway of his self appointed patrol route.
What had once been an empty building was now a pile of broken rubble, spread across the roadway. Wufei cursed in three languages and broke stride, intent on assessing the damage and casualties.
A cursory sweep of the area provided with much evidence of the former. The building had been brought down by several surgical gashes on strategic points along the interior walls.
Wufei climbed agilely over a slab of ragged dry wall, and nearly choked at the scene beyond.
There, curled up in the midst of the destruction, was a small black form, wrapped around itself like a sleeping kitten.... or someone in great pain. He cursed his mind for supplying the addenda to his already morbid line of reasoning.
Wufei picked up his stride, worry blooming and taking route in his gut. A nagging suspicion was confirmed the closer he got, as he spied a chestnut braid snaking out from the pile of black clothes.
"Duo!" The Chinese man broke into a run, heedless of the uneven and unsteady terrain, driven by visions of gore staining the face of his friend, the jester.
With surprisingly steady hands, he rolled over black bundle. Relief swept through him at the sight of the American's peacefully sleeping visage. But, like all good things, i!t was shattered a moment later by a wave of confusion and a small undercurrent of deep rooted disappointment, eating at the edges of his mind.
He scanned the rubble, trying to make sense of what lay at his feet. Something to clear the man at his feet from guilt.
The answer was a soft ticking to his right, the cooling metal of Duo's scythe.
A scowl slammed over Wufei's expressive face. The evidence was clear.
/At least he didn't kill anyone./ A rebellious thought piped up.
"This is not what I need right now," Wufei informed the unconscious boy. Duo for his part, did little more than shift in his sleep in reply.
With a sigh he snatched up the evidence, frowning at the unpleasant warmth and vibrations that ran through the metal handle. He shook his head, dismissing it as unimportant.
With his other hand he picked up Duo and slung him roughly over one shoulder.
"What am I going to do with you?" Wufei asked more to himself than to his new prisoner. He sighed deeply, letting his anger give way to regret. It was going to be a long walk back to the jail.
Deep under'ground,' and out of the prying and condemning eyes of the populous of the colony, Dr. J rubbed his temples wearily with his one remaining hand.
Heero's request was taking longer than he thought it would. Dr. G always was a meticulous man, and the convolution of code surrounding the files that he needed was almost beyond even his formidable skill with computers.
It was a shame that Dr. G hadn't bothered to teach his protege any of those skills. They were wasted upon the doctor's death. Still, there were only a few computers left on the colony, and even fewer people who even knew what one looked like.
There a loophole in the 500th line. Dr. G always was sloppy in the long term. The doctor let a small smile inch across his worn face. Just a few more keystrokes and... there it was!
A video file popped up on screen, filled briefly with the view of a bulbous nose and a miasma of straight gray hair. The doctor on the screen backed up, talking about the mechanics and the nature of the modifications he's made to Howard's invention.
Dr. J frowned, pulling on the end of his mustache in consternation. He KNEW all of this, why bother with the protection?
The screen panned back to show a young boy, hardly older than seven years in age, struggling against thick restraints. A mix of resignation, feral insanity and hatred shown from violet irises in such an intensity...
"The low level tests <A words the swallowed hiss static>passed satisfactorily <ANOTHER the hiss sound broke distorting> going to try both tonight." Came from the sound feed, broken almost past comprehension.
//"Just be careful with it J. It's a pretty powerful toy." Howard's voice rang out as he walked away. "Lemmie know how it goes. I have a new idea I want to get back to."
Later that year Dr. G sent him a mysterious message. "Using both settings at once produces rather unsatisfactory results. Just pick which one you want your pet to be best at and keep it at that."
J had just shrugged and thrown it out. He was already pushing his creation far beyond normal limits. He had no intention of subjecting Heero to anything more.//
A mystery then, but it was beginning to make sense now. A lot more was.
Dr. J closed the file as the screaming began. With a small shake of his head, he erased it completely.
He pushed himself up from the desk and began composing a reply to Heero, expressing his profound disappointment in the lack of results.
Even after death, he had to protect the others as they had protected them. 'We did the right thing, didn't we? We had to do it, didn't we?'
Screams of horror and panic still echoed in his mind, as he lied on paper to the boy he considered a son.
Didn't we?
TBC
Nixers
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