03-Sep-2004
Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Archived: gwaddiction & sweetlysour
Warnings: Quatre cusses, gets laid, beats people up
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: thanks to those reading & reviewing
"Purple, or blue." Lola held up the two bow ties, and gave them a perplexed look. "Green?"
"You're wearing green," I said, from where I lounged on the chairs some kind soul had placed for us members of the species lacking the female shopping gene. Lola had tried on at least nineteen dresses. More, possibly, and she'd ended up deciding on the first dress she'd pick, of the entire bunch. There was a female logic there, but I couldn't follow it. I propped my chin on my fist and smiled lazily at her. "Are we supposed to match?"
"I don't know," she replied, and pouted a little. "You're... you did all sorts of stuff like this... before."
"Yeah." I shrugged, and twisted in the chair to stretch out my legs. "But I never had a date for those things, and I don't think matching with your bodyguards is really a requirement."
"Oh." Lola nodded absently, still reviewing the bowties. One of the clerks approached, and Lola turned to the young man with an exasperated sigh. "Purple, green, blue, and I don't know which," she declared. "He's no help!"
The clerk looked at me, and I shrugged.
"What's the occasion, miss? If it's semi-formal, or formal, it makes a difference."
"I'm wearing a full-length gown," Lola said, and I noticed her hands shook a bit as she said it. It dawned on me that quite possibly the only other time in her life she'd risked exposure to such grandeur might have been a high school prom.
"Formal." The clerk smiled, and took the bowties away from Lola, handing her a black silk bowtie. "Black. You can't go wrong with black."
"It's not too boring?" Lola stared at the small plastic case in disbelief. Then she frowned, turning to me and waving the box at me. "Can you tie a real bow-tie? This is a real---"
I grinned at her, and nodded.
"Oh." Lola sighed, her eyebrows furrowed, and pursed her lips, staring at the box again. "Right. Right. Okay!" She shoved the bowtie at the clerk. "He's getting that. And the suit hanging over there. And the shoes---"
"I'm wearing my boots."
"You should wear shiny shoes," she said.
"I'll shine my boots," I promised her.
I wasn't sure why I insisted – space only knew I'd worn shiny shoes that pinched my feet enough, in the past – and perhaps that was the reason alone for rebelling. But something in the past week had changed, I supposed. The feeling of being adrift, without Trowa, or Heero, or Duo, made me watch my surroundings with a heightened suspicion. Almost paranoid, when I paused to admit it. I wasn't sure why; it's not like they'd been there all along and now were gone. But the fact was that although I knew they could count on me, I'd never said as much to them, and I wasn't sure I could still rely on them to watch my back, after all the ways I'd screwed up.
And I had screwed up. There was no doubt about that. Sleeping with Heero – even with all the excuses of 'we were drunk,' or 'we can do what we want,' or 'it was a one-time thing,' were... well, they were ways to avoid the truth. And ever since Zero, I could do a number of things, but none of them included hiding from the truth, no matter how long or how hard I worked at it. Eventually it would roll back around and stand in front of me, taunting me with the hard facts of the matter.
I'd slept with Heero – somewhere, deep down – to get back at Duo and Trowa. Oh, there was a good bit of doing it for Heero, too; I wasn't a fool. I knew that was true, as well. And I knew I'd been lucky; if Heero had come to his senses in the morning and realized it was a bad idea, I wouldn't have survived just the two-foot stretch to get to my gun to defend myself.
Nothing changed the utter hypocrisy of what I'd said to Duo.
He's not yours, and he'll never be again.
Which wasn't true in the least – Heero's actions in my bed, every word, every look, every plea – said nothing more than that he was Duo's, heart and soul, and would never lose that longing. And my words were doubly cruel, for being so hypocritical. I wanted Heero – and Duo – to be happy – either with each other, or alone, or with someone else. But I knew Duo, despite all his casual airs, wouldn't be happy without Heero for a long time to come. And Heero, for all he tried to put his desires behind him, had shown he wouldn't be happy without one of his loves, either.
Nothing changed the fact that I'd been spiteful. Then, however drunk and unaware, and later, to Duo...
"Quatre?" Lola waved a hand in front of my face. "Would you... like to get some lunch, maybe?"
"Yeah," I said, standing up from the chair and accepting the bags she handed me. Her green gown was over her arm, sheathed in plastic, and she smoothed the plastic a few times. "It's gorgeous," I told her. "You'll knock them all off their feet."
"This a special event?" The clerk smiled at us, and accepted the cash I gave him for the bowtie and suit.
"We're going to see Li Ou at the Metropolitan Center, next week," Lola said. For a second, she sounded like a little girl, boasting of an expected treat. It wasn't a pathetic thing, but something that made me feel warm, to know I'd helped her feel that way. It was pretty damn cool, actually.
It didn't quite make up for the look on Duo's face when he'd left, but I figured I had to start somewhere. At least I could make someone happy, even if I was now just pretending to have the money I'd once had. Even the mockery of wealth was playing more of the same game: letting money bring the happiness I'd told Duo I couldn't get. No, not to me, maybe, but if I could use it to make someone else happy, that would suffice.
We paid for our purchases and left. I held out my arm for Lola as we left the store, stepping into the mall's broad walkways. She paused to check the window, murmuring something about a pair of shoes, and I nodded absently, my gaze rolling over the store's interior. A man in blue jeans and a black jacket was talking to the clerk, who made a negative gesture. The clerk looked nervous, too. I wondered what that was about, but Lola was already pulling me away, towards the mall's restaurant.
I needed to figure out how to resolve things with the other pilots. The feeling of not having them as part of my world was starting to make me suspect everything around me. I smiled at Lola's questioning look, and followed her through the mall.
I debated for a long time while dressing. Take the gun, leave the gun, take the gun, leave the gun. I was used to carrying it to and from work, and leaving it in my locker at work. I had no problem ignoring the campus regulations and carrying it on campus, concealed, either. But going to the Metro Center, and dinner, seemed a bit of overkill; yet I couldn't imagine not having the comfortable weight at the small of my back.
Finally I slipped it into the holster, and straightened the jacket. Damn. It showed, thanks to the coat's smooth fit across my back and around the hips. Well, that would never do.
I put the gun back under my pillow, pulled on my shined but still beat-up boots, adjusted the bowtie one more time, and left to get Lola.
She was waiting in the front room of her boarding house, and it looked like she'd been ready to chew her nails. Her red hair was dyed a more somber auburn, and the green dress complemented her skin tone, a slick sheath dress clinging to all her curves. It was gorgeous, but what took my breath away was the look of both relief and delight when I knocked on the door.
"Let's go," she whispered, grabbing the shawl that came with the dress, and a small clutch purse. "My housemates have been lying in wait all afternoon."
I laughed and escorted her down to the side walk, just as the front door was thrown open and four women fell out. They hollered encouraging things to Lola, two of them whistling loudly at both of us. I took Lola by the hand, spinning her, then bowed formally and tucked her under my arm.
"Show-off," she said, but she looked pleased. A light blush pinked her cheeks.
"I'm entitled," I said. "I'm suffering through wearing a suit again."
"It looks good." She looked me up and down, and grinned widely. "I did good."
"Yeah, you did," I assured her.
Lola looked over the menu, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and dropped the menu on the table.
"I have no idea what to get," she said. "It all looks good."
I grinned, and when the waiter came, I ordered a selection of appetizers and four flights of wine – in red, and white – for each of us. I talked the waiter into getting the chef to do a sampler plate for us, as well. And I did it all in Italian, which had Lola giving me the goofiest look. I tried to ignore her, but she kept bumping me under the table with her foot.
"You're like... all fancy an' stuff," she hissed, leaning over the table so no one else could hear her. "Just what are we going to be eating, anyway?"
"Monkey brain pâté, ostrich, smoked duck, beef's tongue... "
"No way! Quatre Winner, you're joking." Lola's eyes were round, just like her mouth. A perfect red O.
"Me?" I gave her a lazy smile, and winked.
Her eyes narrowed. "You are joking."
"Maybe a little." I leaned forward and tapped her on the nose. "But only about the monkey brains."
Somehow, we ended up in a full critique over dinner, of the last major construction project I'd done with Winner Conglomerate. Lola had definite ideas about where we'd gone wrong, from an engineering point of view, and it was quite fascinating – and a bit surreal – to watch such an elegant woman testing every dish while rattling on about structural algorithms and balanced density and equations for engineering differentials.
The conversation continued through dinner, into dessert, and out into the streets. We had a two-block walk to the Metropolitan Center, and I produced the tickets to the man at the door. He tore them in half, and I presented both to Lola, who reviewed them carefully before tucking them away in her small purse.
We settled into our seats, and she adjusted her shawl for a moment before sitting back with a thoughtful expression.
"What?" I frowned. "You're staring at me."
"You're... I like you better as Quatre," she told me, and nodded firmly. "You're not... it doesn't feel like you're hiding, now. I don't feel like I have to spend all my time digging you out of somewhere. It's not so much work."
"I didn't realize I was that difficult to be around," I muttered, a bit sullenly.
"I don't mean that," she whispered, and her hand seemed to find its way into mine without any thought on either of our parts. "Just that... it feels like now I really could ask you anything, and you'd tell me. So I don't have to ask."
"I'm not sure that makes sense," I teased, but it did. "Must be a girl thing."
Li Ou walked out to resounding cheers at that point, but I did catch Lola rolling her eyes. We stood with the rest of the crowd to applaud, then settled down to hear the opening strains of a violin arrangement of Flight of the Bumblebees.
"Wow," Lola said, fanning herself with her shawl. The crowds were thinning around us, and I risked putting an arm around her waist. I didn't feel turned on, and I didn't feel like I wanted to kiss her, though I figured the evening had been romantic enough to warrant that kind of ending. It was more of a comfortable thing, and somewhere inside me I realized she'd managed to become a friend while I'd been looking the other way.
"I'm glad I called you," I said, spontaneously. "I've been a bastard, and I know it, but I've also been stupid. I missed hanging out with you. I guess it took hanging out with you again to realize I had."
"I always knew you were kinda slow," Lola replied. She put her arm around my waist, and leaned her head on my shoulder. "My feet hurt."
"And you wanted me to wear shiny shoes, too?"
"So we could commiserate."
"Hah." I grinned, and hugged her casually, as we strolled along the late night sidewalks. In the windows of the darkened shops, we made quite a pair. "So, anyway. I'm glad you agreed to come."
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Lola admitted, softly. "I've never... y'know, I always figured I'd get a job working for the state, doing civil engineering, and just going to college would be such a move up from where I came from. But then to see there's so much more above me... "
"Is that bad?"
"No." Lola leaned back to look at the sky. "I like this city. I think I'll stay here. It's home. But it's good to have memories of pretending to be rich, for one night."
"I've never enjoyed being rich, before," I said, and I could feel her giving me a startled look. "It was just something to tolerate, and it came with so many burdens and responsibilities. It was always just there, one more thing to be used."
"Money is there to be spent," Lola said, crisply. "It's all a matter of what you spend it on."
"Then I've realized I like spending it on friends," I said.
"Is that what we are?" Lola smiled, her eyebrows raised. She looked hopeful. "Friends?"
"If you'll have me as one," I said.
She pretended to think about it, and shrugged. "Oh, I'll see if I can pencil you into my schedule." When she shook her head, her dark hair floated around her face, and she grinned impishly. "I'll let my secretary know."
"Assistant," I corrected. "They're called assistants now."
Lola laughed, and I was too busy smiling down at her, enjoying the easy camaraderie we had. It was completely different from what I'd had with the Maganacs, or the other pilots; perhaps the closest was the way Relena and I would sometimes tease each other, but that was rare given our respective schedules and how little I ever saw Relena in person.
Lola was far more grounded, though, I decided. Pragmatic, but romantic. Whomever she eventually married would probably have to be good at fixing water pipes and know to bring her flowers, if he wanted to catch her heart.
"Quatre Winner," a deep voice said, and I looked up to see a man stepping from the alleyway. "If you would come with us, please."
I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward between Lola and the man. One quick punch and the man reeled backwards. Turning, I grabbed Lola by the wrist and jerked her backwards.
"Qua---" Lola's shriek was cut off – she'd shut her mouth to focus on running.
We bolted back towards the corner, skidding to a halt when a dark van pulled up. I yanked her sideways and we took off in the opposite direction of the van. It had to pull up and around to come back, giving us a few spare moments.
I pulled my cell phone from my inner pocket, and shoved it into her hand.
"Call pound-seven," I yelled.
At the corner, Lola halted, and I gave her an angry look. The van was gaining on us. She kicked off her heels, hiked up her dress, and took off down the sidewalk, tossing her head at me. She still clutched the cell phone, but seemed intent on leading me through the city maze.
"This way," she shouted over her shoulder, and ducked down an alley.
"What are you---" I had little breath, too busy keeping sight of her bare feet, flashing past broken bottles and jumping dirty puddles in the alley. The van had stopped on the street. Pounding feet were gaining on us.
"My city," she retorted, and put on a burst of speed.
We came flying out of the alleyway, back onto the sidewalk. I realized we were only a block from the Metropolitan Center, and glanced behind us. Those men looked determined. I knew their kind. It was either now, or the next time my guard was down, I realized.
"Call pound-seven," I said. Lola was panting, getting winded. "Ask for Nataku."
"Nataku?" Lola jerked her head at the corner, and I followed her, taking a right. The men shouted behind us.
"Tell him it's Code Zero Four," I yelled. "Zero Four, got that?"
"Yeah, but---" Lola nearly twisted in place, as I came to a halt.
"Go!" I turned to wait for the men heading towards me. "Go!"
Lola shrieked in frustration, but ran. Her bare feet echoed on the street. One of the men lifted a gun, aiming for Lola's retreating figure. I launched myself forward and crossed the twenty feet in half a second. He pulled the trigger just as I slammed into his hand. The shot went wild. Broken glass sounded from over our heads.
I risked a quick glance down the street. Lola was gone, off into the city she knew so well. Two of the men took off after her. I couldn't move to stop them before a strong fist came up, slamming into my gut. The air exploded from my diaphragm in a sharp whoosh, and I fell to my knees, blinded. A second fist slammed into the back of my head, and I hit the ground, out cold.
I wasn't out for long, but I kept my eyes closed, listening. The van was moving, and the sounds echoed like a bridge, then the wheels rumbled over tarmac. We rolled to a halt several times at stoplights or stop signs, turning until I'd lost count, despite my best efforts.
My eyes were covered, my hands arms bound behind my back. My legs were free, I thought at first, until I realized there were shackles around my ankles. I had no idea how long I'd been in the van. I could only hope Lola knew the city better, and had lost the goons. If anyone could, I figured, she could. If my friendship with Duo had taught me anything, it was that kids with a full access to a city invariably learned all its boltholes and hidden passages. I wasn't that familiar with Lola's history, but I hoped I'd guessed right.
The van came to a stop and the engine cut off. I was hauled to my feet and dragged from the van. I had to shuffle to keep up with the hands on my arms, half-dragging me forward. I counted the paces: almost ninety, with several stops to unlock doors. Then I was shoved forward, and instinctively went down on my knees rather than fall face-first into something I couldn't see.
A thick hand grabbed the back of my jacket, lifting me up, turning me around, and throwing me backwards onto a chair. Within seconds, two or three hands had me securely fastened with electrical tape of some kind. The blindfold was removed.
The room was dim, the light from a dirty lamp sitting on a desk and the blue of a vidphone screen. The room looked like an apartment bedroom in the worse parts of town, and easily three hundred years old. The floors were wooden, and there was wainscoting on the walls. It was incongruous to see such an architectural detail, but given that I was wearing a suit and bowtie and duct-taped to a wooden chair, the odd formality of the old room seemed fitting.
"Quatre Winner," one of the men said, sitting casually on the edge of the desk. He raised one leg, turning sideways, and leaned his elbow on his knee. "This has been a long time coming."
Which could mean any of a number of things, I thought, and kept silent.
"Gundam Pilot Zero Four," he continued, and grinned. He was a rough-looking man, with a chipped front tooth that glinted in the lamplight, until I realized it was capped with silver. His dark hair was thick and black; he spoke with a Colonial accent. "Never thought we'd actually find you."
"You did," I said, calmly.
"Yeah, yeah," he replied, laughing.
One of the other men moved, from where he stood by the wall. "Guess your daughter was right," the man said.
I glanced at the second man, suspicious, and the first man actually brushed his knuckles against his coat, as if polishing something. He grinned widely.
"Yeah, she's pretty smart." The man leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbow, and grinned widely. "I'm First Sergeant T, to you. That's Private L, and Staff Sergeant S." He pointed at two other men, who stepped from the shadows. Neither saluted, but I half-expected them to. T chuckled, and checked his watch. "Hm, another two hours, I think."
A pinprick to the back of my shoulder caught me off-guard. The room swam for a second, and then went dark.
When I woke up, my body was on fire and my mouth was dry; a tape gag across my mouth made it hard to move my jaw too much. I swallowed convulsively, my throat beyond dry to the point of utterly parched. I couldn't get enough saliva going. I was still taped to the chair, and the most I could move was a half-inch in either direction. I forced myself to relax. I wasn't going anywhere, unless I came up with some brilliant idea in the meantime. My head felt too thick and fuzzy for any brilliant ideas, unfortunately.
The room was pitch dark; even after several minutes and my eyes adjusting, I couldn't see anything. It was disconcerting, but no worse than I'd experienced during training. It certainly didn't instill panic, but then, those men might have expected me to keep my cool. I considered yelling, and dismissed the idea. I'd stoop to some lows, but not that one.
I counted to five hundred before the door opened, a sliver of light that blinded me. When I could see again, the desk lamp was on, and the vidphone was lit. T was dialing a number, his back to me, and S was by the door.
"Victoria Winner," T said. "It's concerning her brother, Quatre Winner."
"Please hold," the man's voice said, and the screen was still for a long moment, showing the WIC logo. I was startled; usually someone wouldn't be put right through. But if Lola had managed to get through to Wufei, I could only hope he'd cover all the bases.
"The nature of your call?"
The man's face was impassive, but confused. I couldn't blame him. I didn't imagine the lighting in the room was enough to show our end of the vidphone conversation. T clicked on a flashlight, and shone it on me. I squinted against the light.
"Meet Quatre Raberba Winner," T said, in a level voice.
"Oh... " The obscenity was just below audible level. T laughed softly and the flashlight clicked off. The assistant closed his mouth, regaining his professional demeanor. "Transferring you now, sir."
T shrugged at S, who shook his head. I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings. The flashlight's radiance was bouncing around on my burnt retinas, creating bright afterglows.
"Victoria Winner speaking," my sister's crisp voice announced. "I understand you... Quatre," she murmured, startled.
I looked at the vidphone, and nodded. Victoria's expression hardened. If she had warning, even I couldn't see signs of it. She was known for being a hard-ass in the business world; it would be utterly out of character for her to break down on seeing me taped to a wooden chair.
"We have unfinished business, Ms. Winner," T told her. "Three years ago, Winner International Conglomerate paid off a number of former Alliance officers to keep the secret of a certain young man who had the stupidity to announce his name to a colony before destroying it."
"And?" Victoria's voice was even. She didn't flinch.
"You forgot about the enlisted men," T said, leaning forward into the screen. "There's twenty-seven of us who were there, who survived the war. We want our share of the hush money, too. We're not greedy. Same as you paid the officers. Two hundred thousand credits each, and your brother is returned, safe and sound."
"How long do I have?" Victoria glanced down. She seemed to be writing something, perhaps making notes. "Not including the enlisted men was an oversight. There's no reason to threaten my brother," she said, in a soothing tone. "Where do I send the money?"
T laughed, a barking sound. "I knew you were a reasonable woman. We'll be transmitting an account number, and we'll sort the amount from there."
"Understood." Victoria nodded, not looking up. "Send the account through now, and I'll confirm the transfer personally."
I blinked, stunned at her acquiescence, but even more stunned by the fact that WIC had paid off anyone to whom I'd introduced myself during that hellish time. It was a foggy memory to me, lost in the haze of Zero's embrace, but I'd never actually considered asking whether it had been real. Had I truly told the colony my name and intention? Victoria's reaction indicated that not only that I had, but that my sisters had been fully aware. Just how much had they paid and risked, to keep me – and our family name – safe and out of public suspicion about my status as a Gundam pilot?
"Four hours," T said. He punched in a series of numbers. "We get the confirmation in four hours, and your brother will come back in one piece."
Something moved behind me, but there was nothing I could do but register the awareness that someone else had been in the room all along. Another pinprick sank into my upper arm, and everything faded back to black.
"I've been waiting for your call," Victoria said, and she sounded a tad annoyed. "I've had no way to get in touch with you to explain."
"It's been four and a half hours," T replied, equally irritated.
I shook my head, squinting at the low light. T was standing over the vidphone, his hands braced on the desk. Victoria glanced past him at me, and I could only stare at her, too fuddled mentally by the drug. Whatever they were giving me, it was one I hadn't had before. I thought of T's comment about his daughter, and cursed my ill luck. Was it Felicia? Not Lola... and then I thought of the search on my records, and my drug testing history at the clinic. Felicia might have known about my role during the war, but there was no way she would have known to which drugs I was resistant, and to which I was susceptible – and the list to which I was resistant was considerably longer than those which would put me under.
One lousy case of bronchitis, I growled mentally. Was that really enough to bring down my sisters' house of cards?
"Five million, four hundred thousand credits is a bit much to gather together in merely four hours," Victoria explained. She flicked her blonde hair behind her ears and leaned back in her chair. There was a window behind her, showing the cultured gardens of L4 in the colony's late afternoon. "I've only managed to gather a third. It'll be at least another eight hours before I can move enough monies to complete your request."
"The price will go up, the longer you take," T warned.
"I had three months to gather the funds when dealing with the officers," Victoria snapped. "The least you could do is afford me some minor courtesy when demanding three times that amount of money. I rearrange the funds much more, and the stockholders will notice. Then your money will be tracked down and taken back."
T shook his head. "I'll give you a bit more incentive, then," he said, in a mocking tone. Before I could react, he raised his arm, turned, and fired.
The bullet hit me in the shoulder.
I sat up straight, pain blossoming in my chest. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, could only make a choking sound from the agony flooding my body. My head fell forward, but the tape binding kept me from curling around the injury. I breathed through my nose, unable to get enough oxygen, and the room spun. I squeezed my eyes tight, and everything was red in my eyelids.
The bullet was lodged against my shoulder blade, I guessed, or perhaps buried in the chair. I couldn't tell. It was all a screaming pain, a bloody ache, an agony behind being stabbed, and that had been hell.
Slowly I regained my senses, training coming to the forefront. I raised my head, glaring at T. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me faint from the pain. Victoria, to her credit, hadn't screamed, though she'd paled. I saw her mouth my name.
"Four more hours," T said, and cut the connection. A minute later the desk lamp clicked off, and I waited until I'd heard three sets of footsteps leave the room.
Then, and only then, did I let the tears fall. It hurt like a fuckin' bitch, but what hurt more was that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
I don't know how long I was out, but when I regained awareness, the room was dark again. It was only me and the seeping pain of blood pouring down my chest, oozing into a thickened crust on the jacket. I didn't move; I even breathed shallowly, from my gut, to keep from moving my shoulder too much. Every wince made my body throb. My throat was sore, as if from screaming, but I'd yet to make a sound.
Was this it? No, I knew, I wouldn't die. Not here, not in some dark room.
No, I realized, that wasn't the question I was asking.
Was this the moment that I realized I was truly alone? No back up – no one was coming for me. Victoria would pay the money, as a blood-debt, and expect me returned, alive if not in one piece. I'd not been in one piece since the war. Zero was irrelevant; I'd been fractured way before that.
I was calm, strangely, and it felt like watching Sandrock's door open. The destruction countdown had begun. All that was left was to wait, or to follow the guidelines laid down before me. Almost fatalistically, I reviewed my life, but not in some fantastic, methodical manner. I simply thought, and knew, and was aware.
I loved Duo. I had injured him, by sleeping with Heero. I had done it for love of Heero, and for envy of Duo. It was both and the same, and ironic that my resentment of Duo's success mirrored his jealousy of my birthright. I took out that notion, turned it around, and decided I could live with my actions, or die with them.
I loved Wufei. He'd been the passion, the fire. When my cutthroat coolness had decided one path, he'd gone off like a blazing rocket after his own goals. I didn't always understand nor agree, but I respected his integrity.
I loved Heero. His strength, his stupid idealism, his willingness to keep believing despite everything else telling him to give up, to lie down, to accept defeat. Even in the face of his own wish for a silent, peaceful end, he found the will to keep fighting.
Above all, I loved Trowa. I would probably always love Trowa.
It didn't make sense, to realize such simple things, yet it did, at the same time. My thoughts tumbled over each other, washing back and forth across me like waves on a shore, moving with the pain advancing and receding across my body with each breath. I had alternately been callous, cruel, arrogant, distant, and uncaring with each, but still I loved them. I cared for Jamie, and I cared for Lola, but it wasn't the same. Maybe someday, with enough years, I would love Lola or Jamie so intensely, but I would never truly understand them, nor them me.
And I realized that was okay.
Maybe they weren't supposed to. Maybe not letting someone know me, inside and out, was just part of the way it worked. My shoulder throbbed, and I choked back a laugh; it would have shaken my chest, and I didn't think I'd stay conscious through that pain. All this time, wanting someone to know me, to love me for me, and maybe that just wasn't the point.
Lola had been right. Maybe the real secret to a friendship was knowing that someone could know – could ask – could discover – the truth of me, and trusting the answers would come. Maybe trusting meant not having to ask, and letting the information come freely, in its own time, if ever.
Blood pooled in my lap, in the crook of my thigh and hip. I knew that T had missed the major artery, if I was still alive. I'd hurt for a while, but with proper medical care, I'd survive. Hell, even without it, I might still survive. Gundam pilots were a tough lot, both by selection and design, and I wasn't about to claim the title of weakest pilot – not yet. Not after everything I'd been through, in war and peace.
I didn't want to be the poor little rich boy, held for ransom, and here I was. I didn't want people to know me because they wanted something from me, but I'd done my best to push away the four people who would never see me as a source of money.
Three years before, Sandrock's cockpit door had opened; beckoning me to reconsider the path I'd chosen. If bleeding to death was another form of destruction, at least I could let it come with a clear mind. I couldn't find anyone to talk to – and I couldn't remove the tape across my mouth even if a confessor had been present – but I could straighten things out in my own head, as fuzzy and pain-fogged as it was.
I didn't want to be in business. I didn't want money to be the deciding factor in my days and nights. When I was fourteen, I met the Maganacs, and they changed my life, becoming stars by which I set my course. When had I forgotten their example?
Maybe, I told myself, staring into the darkness, it was time to see those stars again. To remember their promise, their oaths: to protect and uphold their brotherhood, and to fight for peace.
I had my own brotherhood. I'd been wrong to think I had to survive on my own, to make my own way independent of them. Heero had been right. I could have both, and I desperately wanted to laugh at my own stupidity. It was not a failing to lean on the only ones who could support me.
It reminded me of something Wufei had said, once. His words had made Duo gape, and then laugh for nearly ten minutes straight at the deadpan delivery.
"Good friends," Wufei had said, quite gravely, "are friends you can call at two in the morning and tell them you've killed someone." He paused, and then added reflectively, "but true friends are those who show up at your house with a shovel, no questions asked."
I could only wish my friends were on their way, shovels in hand.
I woke up to find T on the vidphone, again with Victoria. It seemed I'd missed the opening parries, but he shone a flashlight on me, and Victoria murmured something I didn't catch.
"Three million," T said, and sounded approving. "Took you seven hours. Fine, then, you have five to get the rest."
"I will do my---"
T cut off the line, and my head swayed, falling to my chest. Every muscle ached from being in the chair; my legs were asleep and I couldn't feel my hands. Blood loss, the drugs, the stress, and it was like undergoing the worst of the deprivation tests during training. I just had to bear it without resorting to screaming my lungs out.
"Well, Mister Winner," T said, leaning over me, "your sister plays nice. But she's taking a long time at this."
"Five million's a lot, even for that family," S commented, behind T. "Long as she can't find us, we're cool."
T chuckled, and the two left the room. I sighed, flinching as the deep breath made the throbbing ache shoot down my chest. I wasn't sure of the exact lengths, but T hadn't let my sister stay on the phone for longer than thirty seconds at a stretch. Even with the technology Preventers had, there was no way to track a call if my kidnappers routed the call different each time. There was no way Preventers could possibly pick up where the previous call's tracking had left off, since each time the originating node would be in a different place.
Please, I moaned silently, please let Lola have gotten away, long enough to call Wufei. He'd make sure the local Preventers took Lola seriously, listened to what she said. I doubted she'd gotten a look at the van, and I didn't expect her to have caught the license plate number. Hell, I could barely remember what the van looked like, myself. I just had flashes of memory, and most of it was beginning to gloss over the edges from the pain of the gunshot wound.
I faded back into darkness, accepting the blindness with relief.
"Hold still," a voice whispered. "This is going to hurt."
I blinked, and tried to raise my head, but a hand smoothed across my jacket, running over the blood-caked wound. Pain arced through me, and I know I nearly cried out, but for the gag on my mouth.
"Shhh," the voice said. "Hold on, bro, the cavalry's on its way. You just hang in there."
I managed to lean my head to the side, rubbing my cheek against my shoulder, trying to get the tape off. Nimble fingers caught at the edge of the tape, and a whisper warned me before slowly prying the tape back.
It hurt; it hurt like a damned bitch, but less than being shot, at least.
I gasped, whimpering when the deep breaths made my chest throb. Hands gripped me by the shoulder, holding me in place.
"Just sit tight," the voice told me. It was deep, firm, and confident, but there was an air of anxiety that made me hold my tongue and listen closely. "I'm not going to start cutting at the rest of you without a light, so hang in there."
"D... Duo?" My voice was hoarse, and dry.
"Who else?" He sounded amused, and I realized he had to be crouching behind the chair. His mouth was at my ear.
"I'm sorry," I said, and coughed a little. It took me a second to breath through the pain in my chest. "I'm sorry," I said, again, and hands touched my hair, smoothing back the sweat-damp strands.
"I know," he said.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," I said, low and rough, just barely a whisper. "It's just... you do everything well, and right. I wish I could be like you... "
"Like me?" A disbelieving chuckle sounded in my ear. "No, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Look at Heero... he won't even look me in the eye, now. Would you really want to be someone who loved and lost?"
"I already am, three times over," I said. "I screwed up."
"You're not perfect, y'know," Duo said, and his hands slipped around me, cradling me around the waist. His chin rested on my good shoulder, his breath a warm reality against my neck. "You try so hard to do everything perfectly, to be what everyone expects, and you don't need to. Not for us."
My father's words came back to me, some comment he'd made when I was a child. I repeated them, and felt utterly stupid when Duo chuckled again, so low it was only a vibration against my body.
"The golden boy? What are you, the sun, to shine your warmth and light across us all?" Duo shook his head, his chin digging into my shoulder. "We aren't your satellites, hurtling through space around the glory of your being, and don't you ever think you're the sole source of our light."
"I didn't mean," I started to mutter, but Duo shushed me again.
"That's not to say you don't bring us light," Duo replied, contemplative. He shrugged, and I could feel the movement in his arms around me. "We reflect it on each other, but the peace we brought is the real sun, I think."
"You're a closet philosopher," I said, and coughed again. "My throat is dry."
"We'll get you water as soon as Wufei and Heero and Trowa have cleaned house," Duo replied. One of his hands found its way to my brow, and he smoothed the hair back again. I sighed, closing my eyes against the darkness, but his light remained in my awareness. "I've stopped moving, so they know your location. Transmitter... damn nifty thing," he gloated. "And if anyone comes through that door, I didn't make no stupid oath not to kill," he added, a bit darkly.
"Of course," I replied, chuckling quietly. "Use me as your shield."
"You're handy that way," he said.
"Thanks."
"Anytime. I'd do the same for you, y'know."
"I do," I told him, and it was true.
We were startled by the sound of gunshots, a rapid fire of blasts coming from somewhere in the building. I laughed, but it was a both a cough and a whimper, as the pain lanced down my spine from the gunshot.
"Well, now," Duo drawled. "Looks like the party's beginning." Something clicked, and one of his arms moved to rest on my shoulder. I knew his gun was cocked and ready, pointing at the room's entrance.
"How can you see?"
"Night goggles," he replied, and gave a breathless laugh. "These are pretty damn cool, actually. Man, to think of the damage I could've done if G had let me have these, instead of sending me in with just a handful of grenades... "
" ...And one big-ass mecha," I added.
"Minor detail," he admitted. Duo turned, and his nose brushed my cheek. "Man, Quatre, I don't ever want to lose you. You're not my sun, and you're no golden boy, but my world would still be colder without you."
"Poetic," I whispered.
"And true."
He kissed me on the cheek, and his right hand went back to running through my hair. His left arm remained on my shoulder, ready to defend, and we listened to the sound of running footsteps, shouts, and gunfire.
End Part 14
(:./sol/nothing14)
