August 1998
Heero’s hands fit firmly to the controls of Vayeate, at home with the control board of a mobile suit as he was comfortable nowhere else. The blood thrummed in his ears, a rush of red that he could almost taste at the back of his throat, the feeling of truly being alive as he was nowhere else, and could only come close to while... He flicked his thoughts away from Duo again, irritably. Only with the rush of a mission pounding through his veins could he feel fully alive, blocking out the dreadful flat hollow that took the place of his heart.
Or was that hollow from something else?
He flicked away that nagging voice. The perfect soldier had no place for a heart.
He concentrated on his mission. This was where his attention belonged. The five scientists had done a good job on this machine, even though half-completed it was still up to the same standards as his gundam, and as easy to pilot. He was already powered up as he switched on the outside feed of the intercom. The five scientists who had created Gundam were excitedly explaining their creations to Une and her minions, wrapped in the thrall of scientific exploration even though it was for the benefit of the wrong side.
That was why they had to die.
With calm resolve, he sighted on the knot of people and squeezed the trigger. The wide beam cannon should sweep them all away, so much charred flesh, in seconds.
Energy erupted from the Vayeate’s cannon, drowning out the dismayed cries of technicians, soldiers, and his five targets – they would all die.
"What!? The Vayeate is moving!"
"Activate Mercurius’ shield!"
"Done!"
His eyes were dazzled with the backwash of light as the cannon discharged with a roar, its energy beam maxing out as Heero pushed it to the limits and beyond. The red mobile suit – Mercurius – suddenly lurched into action, its violet disks fanning out into a wide protective circle. Heero cursed viciously but the blast was already firing with concussive force, driving in its unalterable course – it was impossible to redirect the beam cannon now. They had employed Mercurius’s defense to counter Vayeate’s offense.
The energy beam lashed out, and was absorbed completely.
Heero swore again as the controls froze up, crackling with static. A failure. And Vayeate was finished now. The damned thing was so fried that the self-destruct button wouldn’t even work.
Vayeate crashed to the ground and Heero flinched back from the sizzling control board. So he’d failed. Again. He couldn’t kill Relena – he couldn’t kill Duo – hell, he’d even failed to self-destruct *himself,* even as he blew Wing Gundam apart. Uselessly his fist crashed on the self-destruct button.
The cockpit flew open.
Heero let out a harsh burst of incredulous laughter, then recognized it for the chance it could still possibly provide. They wouldn’t expect the pilot to emerge, necessarily, after seeing Vayeate melt boiling to the deck plates. Warily he drew his gun and leapt out, dropping lightly to the metal surface below. Perhaps he could still complete his mission.
He froze as his eyes caught the tall slender frame vaulting through the air, twisting gracefully several times before flipping to the ground. He recognized those moves. He knew that body.
It was the indecision that ruined him, that split second as he registered Trowa Barton’s presence that cost him his second chance.
Trowa, his lithe body clothed in the uniform of an OZ soldier, landed on the deck with his gun leveled straight at Heero’s head, unwavering. He recognized that cold empty gaze. He’d seen it in the mirror.
The gun dropped from his fingers. Was this the price he had to pay?
His sharp ears caught the sound of Dr. J’s voice nearby. "Hey, my weapon is pretty clever, right?"
...my weapon. Like a child showing off a toy. Instantly Heero knew Dr. J wasn’t referring to Vayeate. With a casual stroke, all he was had been concentrated into a plaything to be maneuvered, placed at the creator’s whim.
"That’s true. He came to kill us – perfect!"
The perfect soldier.
How could he be any less, when his creation had been so carefully orchestrated? Yet even he had failed to carry out his mission. He couldn’t kill Duo. He couldn’t kill Relena. He couldn’t kill himself. He couldn’t kill Dr. J and the other scientists. He couldn’t kill...
Again he saw the scrapes and cuts on Duo’s body; remembered how angry he’d felt at every bone-deep bruise and gash, and how puzzling it had been to be angry. This was war, and the soldiers got hurt and killed.
So why couldn’t he kill...?
Now he would atone for his failures.
Trowa’s eyes turned suddenly uncertain for the slightest instant, a mere fraction of a second, eyebrows contracting before his perfect mask reasserted itself.
It didn’t matter what happened to him. There would be no rescue, and it was too late to self-destruct, even if the damned thing had been working.
Trowa’s gun was still pointed at him, and he stared straight ahead, arms behind his head as they returned to the knot of soldiers. With a detached calm he wondered what would happen to him. Somehow, Trowa had infiltrated OZ. For what reason, he could only suspect…he thought he knew. But he...he would be lucky if they killed him quickly.
Whatever they did to him, this was the hell of his own punishment. It was only what he deserved.
He closed his eyes over Duo’s wounded expression. Why don’t you just leave?
Fine.
Pain was for someone else. He didn’t feel pain.
Quatre lifted his head, still swimming in the aftermath of the last dream that had gripped him. Facing Trowa again, standing before the shuttle about to board it.
"Trowa – Matte, chotto matte! I’ll go with you!" he called after him.
Trowa regarded him with unblinking, unemotional flat brown eyes. Then he turned away from him, walking up the ramp into the ship. "Gomen. Heero has already taken that away from me. I can’t, Quatre."
WHAT!?
"Trowa – Trowa, what did he do to you?" Quatre demanded.
It was a struggle to open his eyes, much harder than it should have been. The light, harsh and artifical, pierced his pupils instantly and he winced. So, he’d made it to space? He was alive. Perhaps it would have been easier to die.
He’d lost Trowa. He’d lost Sandrock.
Quatre frowned, trying to focus his eyes. What did he have left, but to fight?
"Where am I?" the boy murmured, trying to push himself upright and falling back onto the pillow again. "Ah..."
He closed his eyes again, letting the replay of the bright lights tease the insides of his lids. The lady doctor – Iria – had come by again recently to give him more medication, and to check on his condition. Alive. He was indeed alive...she’d told him he had managed to reach a resource mining satellite.
You wouldn’t have lived much longer if you had continued to drift.
He saw the flat lifelessness of Trowa’s eyes again, and it clutched at his heart, a nagging sense of premonition. Something hurt him so much more than his own pain...but what was it?
He’d landed, strangely enough, on a Winner resource satellite – his father’s property. Coming home...
...but did he have a home to come to, after what he’d done?
Irritably Quatre pushed that away. He would deal with that when he faced his father in person, as he knew he had to.
The doctor, Iria, seemed familiar. Somehow, as if he should know her...not precisely stemming from her features but the expression of calm resolve, of almost a sadness and...not precisely overwork but...
The door slid open and Iria returned, checking the monitors, putting a cool hand to his forehead, fluffing his pillow with a comfortable sort of efficiency. It was puzzling. These were actions a nurse or even a machine could perform with equal facility without disturbing the doctor, yet Iria had assumed the duties wordlessly. He didn’t quite know why.
"Arigato," he murmured as she finished, replacing the nearly-empty glass of water with a full one, and giving him a gentle smile.
"Quatre, a shuttle is free now...and you’re almost strong enough. Tomorrow, if you like, I can take you to see Mr. Winner." She hesitated. "If you still want..."
Firmly he nodded. "Thank you, Iria," he replied, his voice cracking. Even a total stranger was willing to go this far for him. He relaxed back onto the pillows – tried to, anyhow. Trowa’s parting words, and that last gesture – wiping his kiss from his mouth – still haunted him.
Iria’s eyes remained fixed on him for a moment, then a tiny smile crossed her lips. She nodded, turned, and left.
Gomen...I can’t, Quatre.
"Heero," he whispered, his tone hardening, the sheets under his hands knotting from the strain he applied. "What did you do to him? To Trowa?"
He tried again to relax, but his eyes continued to pop open. Quatre stared at the sterile ceiling and watched the replay of that scene, over and over.
It was a flare of awareness.
Quatre gasped in pain, starting up from the pillows to clutch at his heart, at the awful reality of the sudden connection. A soft, smothered sob wracked his throat, quickly silenced.
"Impossible...it can’t be...oh Trowa...oh, no..."
Trowa’s eyes pierced the dim light, instantly finding the slim shadowed figure within. A flicker of unease gripped his throat. Despite an abundance of modern lighting available and no lack of funding to cover it – not in Treize’s military – prison quarters were always kept at the dimmest settings. A disorienting tactic, especially when the bright light from the corridors hit those within, blinding them.
"You again."
That voice, flat and cold. The boy he had spent two months with, and never reached below anything but the surface of, was shackled heavily at the wrist and ankle. He looked completely unaffected by his surroundings, as usual.
"We fear his strength," the OZ private had replied curtly, when Trowa had inquired if all that was necessary.
Trowa understood. He had been on the receiving end of that strength.
"They wanted to kill you," Trowa informed the Wing Gundam pilot. "But I managed to convince them that you may still be useful."
"Oh?" Heero replied, his tone wary. His eyes flicked around the dark cell. They returned to Trowa, steady and lifeless, but he was alert to the possibility of listening devices.
"Lady Une has given me the responsibility of capturing or destroying the Tallgeese. I suggested you for the second pilot. For the Mercurius," Trowa put forth bluntly, hoping Heero would realize what he was doing, and go along with it.
"Sou," Heero muttered. "And?"
"She is considering it. There’s strong opposition," Trowa said candidly.
Heero’s lip quirked. "Of course."
Trowa considered the slender but strong boy before him, seated diffidently on the slab of cold metal that served as his bench. With Quatre’s fleeting, burning kiss still fresh in his mind, even after weeks, seeing Heero again was a strange juxtaposition. Quatre had been a brush of sweet innocence, a quickening...Heero was dead and lifeless to him. Nothing within him sparked at Heero’s presence, or vice versa. Yet he’d thrown away possible happiness for...for what?
To be alone with his emptiness?
"Did you rescue Duo, after all? ...I heard the reports." Back when he was still in hiding, to hear Heero had been close enough to rescue the captured pilot of Shinigami had been...something of a relief. Heero had never pretended to be in love with him, and a good thing too, when his heart – what there was of it – was only for Duo. Even if he wouldn’t let himself know it.
"Aa." Heero turned his angry glare into the floor, not meeting his eyes. The set of his mouth was grim and inflexible. He said nothing further.
Trowa recognized the look. He’d thrown away his love, too.
"Trowa...are you..." Muscles in Heero’s jaw shifted as his expression changed.
Trowa recognized that look, too. After two months in his company, he’d gotten reasonably decent at reading Heero’s non-expressions. He supposed the same went for himself.
"Heero. I can’t forgive what you did...but I can’t forgive myself, either." He paused. Because I can’t let it go. "Just forget it. We need you."
Swiftly he turned, hoping Heero would realize which 'we’ he truly meant. If things continued to go well – if Une continued to favor her "pet" Gundam pilot – if the scientists made their creations as he suspected they intended – if...if...
If he had never let Quatre go.
Such yawing conjunctives.
If only he weren’t so tied up in the answers to them all.
Such a shock...he let his head fall back against the lift that traveled up the colony, the apprehensive ache in his breastbone outweighed by the revelations Iria had tendered. "Sister...my sister..." he mumbled under his breath, a pleased smile trembling on his lips. Even more than finding he possessed such a wonderful living sister, and he could put another name and face to the endless horde of sisters he knew he had, was what she had said to him. We’re all on your side, Quatre, especially Otousama. After some of the hurtful things his father had said during their meeting, it was hard to believe.
You undutiful son! What do you mean by war...what can a child like you do?
Quatre opened his eyes and met Iria’s calm soothing smile with a serene one of his own. The grating outburst had been tempered by his newly-discovered sister. When you ran out on your own, Otousama was the most worried...
It was such a small piece of knowledge, but its inclusion made the largest kind of difference on his battered soul. Coming home, there were problems...somehow, he had to replace Sandrock. But it was a homecoming of sorts, at least. Even though he had to continue fighting, even if it wasn’t the path his father would choose.
He had said as much, to Iria.
"Quatre, can you go on fighting?" Iria had questioned, her voice full of the implications of colonial anti-Gundam opinion.
"I don’t fight to gain recognition from people..."
Soft arms had encircled him in a firm, fragrant hug, "We all love you...our Quatre..."
Tears sprang to his eyes again, as they had at that moment. Would Iria still love...would she still approve...if she knew? About...
Trowa’s flat eyes. Turning his head away, to wipe his mouth of Quatre’s kiss. "Gomen, Quatre. I can’t. Heero took that away from me."
His palms stung and he looked down in surprise. Welts of half moon-shaped wedges seeped full with blood. He’d cut himself.
Iria was speaking on the lift’s phone, her tone worried and urgent. "What!? Otousama has detached the satellite!?"
Quatre’s head jerked sharply. NANI!? He’d known his father was entering a discussion panel today – talks continuing on the subject of whether to turn the satellite over to OZ for military use. The Winner was the only one who opposed, but he’d never imagined...such a rash action!
He caught at Iria’s elbow, eyes wide. "No! He wouldn’t...father would risk getting killed to prevent OZ from using the satellite for weapons production?"
The helpless wash of sadness in Iria’s eyes was enough answer. His father...he would risk anything in the name of peace, save for using violence. So long as he maintained his pacifist methods, he was adamant.
"Iria...Iria, we have to stop him!"
Duo sighed and tucked his chin lower, pulling the cap more securely over his eyes to overshadow his face. He was bored.
He let his eyes run over the scores of young OZ recruits – colony recruits – running laboriously through a drill he could dance in circles around them, even if he had a broken leg. Scratch that, he was VERY bored.
Always before when he’d been bored, there had been Heero. To take his mind off the war, away from the killing...to puzzle over the Japanese boy’s incessant use of the computer, to try his very hardest to distract him...
He grinned wickedly to himself, then it dissolved into a rueful smile. No more happy alphabet games for them...and even if Heero were still here, things just weren’t that simple between them anymore.
His cracked ribs were very nearly healed, though, so next week he was planning on making his move – if he could steal a LEO and get off this damned backwater colony that was making his teeth ache, he would be that much closer to the moon base – and Heero. Because Heero – somehow, incredibly, impossibly – had been captured. And he, and the five scientists who’d created the Gundams, were being held at the moon base.
So that was where he had to go.
He sighed again. Deathscythe. If Deathscythe hadn’t been blasted to all hell, this mission would give him no problems at all.
Deathscythe was gone.
He’d watched OZ blow it to smithereens before his disbelieving eyes.
Death couldn’t die!
Yet Deathscythe’s glittering gundanium parts were strewn across an asteroid belt. And now he was left with nothing but the unpalatable option of seeking out and killing his mentor...or the decidedly appealing one of hauling Heero’s cute ass out of trouble, for a change of pace.
"Yoshi!" the determination settled over his features. "I’ll do it." He’d been forging the fake credentials for almost a week now...after a few false starts, he finally had a set of documents that would pass him through OZ’s security checkpoint on this bumblefuck tin can. It would be a cinch.
As long as nothing interfered.
Heero slid his arms around the close comfortable shape of his lover; sighed and pumped his hips against him "Duo...you’re here..." Pressed his lips against his temple, trying wordlessly to convey he regretted walking out, that he was stupid to leave Duo behind so easily... Expecting him to squirm around any instant with ready hands and an open mouth.
When nothing did, his eyes snapped open.
Nothing did, because there was nothing there.
His internal clock informed him that it was early morning.
Heero pushed himself upright, his erection a throbbing need that would go unsatisfied. His hand twitched towards it in an abortive movement. He didn’t deserve that relief.
Wearily, stiffly he got up and stumbled over to the basin of water in the corner, scrubbing wetted hands over his face. What a stupid thing. Why long for what wasn’t here? Why...
He scowled. He hadn’t had any morning erections since those first few. It was a nagging, embarrassing habit he thought he’d trained himself out of.
Quickly he forced his mind off Duo, again. The mission had gone well...for a change. He in Mercurius and Trowa piloting the Vayeate had successfully double-teamed Zechs to a standstill. The most satisfying moment had been leveling his gun at the older man’s head, and seeing the startled jump of his eyes.
The OZ soldiers had returned him instantly to his cell, but not before Trowa had managed to slip him a miniature projection device. Plans for the Vayeate and the Mercurius...and the clever dummy destruction switch in Vayeate that was supposed to trigger Mercurius’s immolation.
Even after all he’d done, Trowa was still going this far for him.
He’d even inquired delicately into Heero’s well-being. "Are the soldiers – are they...?"
Heero had snorted. "Why do you think they put me in such heavy manacles?"
Green eyes had rounded in shock.
"They –they’re—"
"They tried." There was a certain smug note of satisfaction to his voice. Even heavy manacles had their uses.
So he remained untouched.
A grim smile reached his lips. Only Duo had ever done that, with him. The first one...and the only one he would allow to take him. Only...he didn’t understand why. Why he’d let him, and why he’d left that behind with a slam of the door.
Surely Duo hated him.
He deserved to be hated.
Heero sank back onto the slab of stone. Finally, his hand crept into his shorts, and he let Duo in. Back into his head, filtering so thoroughly into his thoughts and a soft moan escaped his lips at how close it seemed, how thick and vivid the memories were. Because the cell was dark and cold, but not lifeless. Not if he had Duo to keep him company.
That sensuous smile...the lean torso, poised above him...
Duo...I...
His head fell back.
The tiny shuttle sped towards the uncoupled satellite as quickly as possible. "Otousama, please stop! This won’t do any good!" Iria’s strained voice rang through the cabin. They had bare moments to finish this, before the armaments of a colony, their own people, opened fire on the satellite – on his father!
Anxiously Quatre pushed the throttle as far as it would go.
"Are you telling me to just sit back and watch OZ invade us!?" the angry voice of the Winner flooded the intercom."I am NOT in the wrong!"
"Chichiue!" Quatre uttered desperately.
"Quatre...don’t fight with the mobile suit.Violence won’t solve anything." The same blunt, authoritative tone he remembered was blurred with the edge of...sadness?
"Chichiue..." he breathed, humbled and afraid. Even this far, he still held to his ideals. Quatre’s chin firmed. He would hold true to his ideals, too. He could show the same resolve.
He rolled the shuttle expertly into alignment, a position preparatory to docking the satellite.
"You idiot! Don’t come near; the beam cannons are aimed and they’ll fire at any instant!"
"Father, run away!" Quatre urged desperately, tears welling up that he tried to choke back.
"Quatre, I am running away." The rough voice was almost gentle now, but still the old underlying steel remained. "I’m definitely not going to fight. There is no end to battle...that’s why I’m running away. And if I am to meet my death for that, it cannot be helped. I don’t have any regrets here if I have to change my beliefs."
"CHICHIUE!"
The beam cannons fired.
The sky was glazed over with the white-yellow flare of the energy searing through space. Automatically Quatre threw the shuttle into a roll, as the cannon fire took apart his world with every precisely-aimed volley. The satellite’s hull trembled violently, still intact but it was a shuddering, exploding wreck. Quatre shouted out again, clawing at the controls. "Father...FATHER!"
The Winner was dead.
His father...gone.
Quatre’s eyes were empty as the satellite blossomed into a soundless, fiery death. The concussive force wave of its decompression struck violently, lashing out at the tiny shuttle, at his presumptuous move to save what had been resolved for death The boy cried out as he was thrown from the seat, hurtling for the far wall of the cabin.
"Quatre!" Iria screamed, launching herself from the chair, disentangling her restraints She caught the slight plummeting body against her own, and they hit the far wall with a sickening thud. A strangled choke escaped his sister’s lips, and she went limp.
Gradually the aftershocks of the tremendous explosion subsided.
"Chichicue..." Father, I’m sorry...I’ve failed you again. The colony, the colony was armed!
"Quatre...father was fighting." The soft, pained voice distracted him from his livid connection. "He didn’t run away. He fought courageously." She winced in pain, a cry tumbling past her iron-hard control.
"Iria, keep still. It’ll affect your wound."
His sister was crying. "Quatre...you’re so kind...Father was kind too. Why did he have to be killed?" The tears spilled past her dark lashes, fixating his attention. His sister. His father. His...no. Trowa was never his. But nothing close to him remained untouched. One by one, all that he valued was destroyed or violated...Sandrock, gone. Trowa, taken. Father...his father was dead, and his sister harmed for his sake, and weeping for their father’s...
The tear fascinated him. A fleshly summary of all that had gone wrong, a drop of concentrated pain and the sum of bitter experience that only a gentle heart wounded could produce.
Something within Quatre wrenched violently, but he made not a sound.
"No one understands the tears of gentle people. So the colony’s satisfied," he said aloud, looking down with venom on the glittering metal creation that had produced claws and teeth to shred up the life that had given it meaning, shaped its direction. "So are all you satisfied!? I’ll never forget this. And I’ll never forget this day!"
His tears were gone.
What can a child like you do?
Father...I’ll show them...I’ll show them ALL what I can do!
Quatre began to laugh, his eyes trembling wide on the edge of hysteria as his laughter pushed the knife’s edge of insanity, eclipsing the confines of the narrow shuttle. "And everyone’s tears will be repaid."
End of Part 3
(:./talya/loss3)
