27-Mar-2001
Well, here's the next part, as promised... and in this one, we start unraveling the secrets. *cackles gleefully* Thanks ever so much to all you generous people who helped me to *not* sound like a doofus with all the medical terminology--you're the greatest!
Title: The Longest Dream Part 15 -- Secrets Revealed
Author: Hope of Dawn
Feedback: C&C appreciated!
Archive: GW Addiction at http://www.gwaddiction.com/
Writer's Notes: In this AU, I've made the assumption that all the Scientists escaped the crash in time and survived the war--except for Dr. J, who died after he was shot on the Peacemillion. All technical mistakes are, of course, mine. Many, many thanks to Ravynfyre, Di, Sachie, pyro, sans, Stephanie, Arenna and everyone who helped with the technical stuff. This section wouldn't have been half as good without ya!
Warnings: AU, X-over, shonen-ai, language, violence.
He was alone, wrapped in utter stillness. There was no duty here, no aching regrets, no pain of either body or spirit. Even his dreams had dissipated into he enshrouding embrace of oblivion. His soul rested, unburdened by the crosses it had borne for so long...
"Dr. Uzuki...?"
He turned away from that name, determined to ignore the memories that glimmered through the dark.
"...please... Citan... "
The second name curled around him, unbidden and unyielding. It resonated against his bones and defined him... .summoned his burdens back to the memory of flesh and blood.
"Hyuga... "
Even through his oblivion, that third and most final name pulled at him like an implacable tide. Known by so few, and spoken so rarely, it alone held the power to summon him back from the abyss of death itself...
"...my friend, answer me. Hyuga... "
Gradually the darkness unfolded, and Citan opened his eyes.
The room in which he awoke was deeply shadowed with the onset of nightfall. Crowded around him in the dimness were others; wounded, he guessed, from the breathy moans and half-hitched cries of painful sleep. They filled the room to capacity and beyond, filling beds and overflowing onto the floor in ordered rows of white-sheeted pallets that took up every inch of available space.
A white-clad nurse moved in quiet vigil through the ward, her face creased with lines of fatigue as she checked bandages and breathing. Disinclined to disturb her, Citan did a quick self-assessment of his condition. A quick glance revealed the pristine bandages encasing his chest and shoulder, as well others around his head and hands, and no evidence of bleeding. Thankfully, his visible stitches seemed to be clean and miraculously free of infection; a fever would have incapacitated him for a week or more. Encouraged by that discovery, he struggled to sit up.
Unyielding hands quickly pressed his shoulders back onto the bed. Looking over his shoulder, Citan met Sigurd's cool amethystine gaze, half-hidden by the spill of silvery-blonde hair.
"Leaving so soon?" Sigurd asked, his voice hushed in deference to the wounded around them.
For an answer, Citan gave him a wry grimace as he dealt with the sharp aches that had followed in the wake of his sudden movement. Perhaps sitting up hadn't been the greatest idea after all. "Well, I seem to be taking up valuable space. I thought perhaps it would be a good idea to offer my assistance."
Sigurd sighed, noticing without comment the beads of perspiration dotting the older man's forehead. "Always the overachiever, eh, Hyuga? There's a reason for all those bandages, you know; you took quite a beating. The medical staff has been waking you at regular intervals for quite some time, and this is the first time you've been awake enough to remember it."
"A day? How long have I been unconscious?" Citan asked, startled.
"About a day and a half. You're not going anywhere, my friend. If I have to tie you down to make you stay in that bed, I will."
"Well, that's certainly... an intriguing idea," Citan said wryly. His eyes rose and caught that singular sapphire gaze, as a faint blush stained across Sigurd's aristocratic cheekbones. The unguarded moment stretched taut, humming like a drawn bowstring.
Then the moment passed, their gazes sliding away to hide away behind familiar walls. Sigurd gave a faint sigh, looking over the other patients in the crowded ward as he avoided looking at his friend. "You know what I mean."
Sobering, Citan said, "Yes. I do." He reached out with a gauze-wrapped hand and enfolded Sigurd's long fingers in his own, squeezing gently. "Thank you." The mischievous twinkle reappeared as he asked, "So--are you here to read me a bedtime story, then?"
"Well, actually--" Sigurd's reply was interrupted as a familiar brown-ponytailed head popped around the half-open doorway.
"Doc! You're finally awake!" Fei exclaimed--then cringed at the vehement 'Sshhh!' that came from the duty nurse. "... sorry... " Hooking his thumbs in his belt sash, he picked his way cautiously through the ward. Quatre trailed uncertainly in his wake, blonde hair gleaming palely in the meager candlelight.
"You're looking better, Doc," Fei commented as he inspected Citan's bandaging with a critical eye.
Quatre nodded in agreement. "I think so too... the swelling seems to have gone down a bit. You still look a bit like a mummy, though." He placed a gentle hand on an unbandaged part of Citan's arm. "How do you feel?"
"About as well as can be expected," Citan answered honestly. "I suppose I'm rather lucky. It could have been much worse."
"Anyone else, and it would have been," Fei interjected, grinning. "But Doc's as tough as old boot leather. Right, Sigurd?" Sigurd rolled his eyes and declined to answer.
"That's good." Quatre pulled up a small stool and sat, his teal-blue eyes dark. "I want to thank you for what you did. Trowa would be here to thank you himself, but he's elbow-deep in grease at the moment, working with Duo on a mechanical problem." He looked down at his clasped hands soberly. "I can't thank you enough for pushing Heavyarms out of the line of fire--you probably saved his life. He can be so careless of his own safety, sometimes... "
"It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but I'm glad I could help," Citan replied. He shifted, startled, as Fei flipped back his blanket and ran light fingers over his tightly-bandaged ribs. "Fei--what... ?"
Fei gave him a tight, distracted smile as he continued to concentrate. "Ssh. You know I'm not real good at this, Doc. Don't interrupt." A soft glow began to radiate from his fingertips as Fei closed his eyes, frowning in concentration. The radiance expanded, its warm light illuminating the angled planes of Fei's face as it gradually began to encompass both his hands.
Quatre gasped softly. "What is he doing?" he whispered, afraid to disturb Fei's concentration.
Sigurd was the first to answer the question. "It's a healing technique--one that draws on chi instead of Ether energies. Now that Ether is no longer available, Fei's healing powers are the only ones left to us."
Citan hissed through his teeth as his ribs began to knit together with painful slowness under Fei's light touch. Quatre flicked his worried gaze between Fei's hands and Citan's tightly drawn face. "Is it always this painful?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Citan replied. His hand clenched spasmodically over Sigurd's, who returned the grip with reassuring strength. "It's a fairly low-level technique. So it takes some time... and energy."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Quatre asked. Sigurd shook his head regretfully, and Citan gave the Gundam pilot a tight smile. "Some... distraction couldn't hurt... "
Quatre cocked his head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"There is something... that has been bothering me." Citan bent a sharp-eyed gaze on the Gundam pilot. "I wonder if you would care to explain to me... the details of exactly who and what you are?"
Quatre's flinch was almost imperceptible. He drew back warily. "I don't understand."
"You have told us that all five of you had been soldiers. That you had been placed in those chambers in order to travel to a new colony in space. Even given that this is true, it fails to explain a great many things," Citan said quietly.
He began to count his observations off on his fingers, one by one. "For a start, surviving for so long in hibernation. Recovering in a matter of months... and learning an foreign language in the same... amount of time. All five of you are probably the best Gear pilots I have ever seen, I will admit. Even so, you have adapted to completely foreign tactics and terrain with unprecedented speed." He raised an eyebrow, winced at another spike of pain, then added, "Duo's earlier comment... seemed to confirm my suspicions. If you'll recall, when I asked how he knew all of you were recovered, he said--'that's what we were designed for'."
"In our experience, being 'designed' has certain connotations," Sigurd added, thinking uneasily of Solaris' cannibalistic monstrosities, the Wels.
Quatre sighed, hugging himself defensively. "I see." He shut his eyes. "I suppose this was inevitable... "
"Please... we are not here to judge you." Quatre looked up, surprised. Citan flinched as another bone set itself, then said levelly, "I especially would have no right to do so. I simply dislike working under a misapprehension... and must admit to a certain curiosity."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume the worst," Quatre said. He straightened on his stool. "It's just... a rather painful memory. You see, it involves the reason we were sent into space in the first place... "
(January 28, A.C. 198--Earth.)
Quatre walked dazedly through the blank white hallway, flanked to either side by granite-faced Preventer officers. Since the sudden news that had blindsided him two days ago, he could barely think past the single overriding question that hammered constantly on his mind. Could it be true?
The world seemed very far away, his mind insulted behind numbing walls of white noise. Only Trowa's guiding hand, laid lightly in the small of his back, kept him moving forward. The memory of those emerald eyes, shuttered once more by secrets, was all that kept Quatre from retreating away from the confrontation that lay ahead.
He barely noticed when they finally entered the Preventers conference room. Herded to an empty chair, he sat down with mechanical precision, folding this hands precisely in his lap. As Trowa took the remaining empty seat at the end of the long teakwood table, Quatre glanced around, his haze lifting long enough to register a benumbed kind of concern.
As expected, Heero, Duo, and Wufei were already present, seated in full Preventer regalia. Heero was sitting ramrod straight in his seat, an impassive soldier to the last. His fierce gaze had flickered over to their arrival, registered both his and Trowa's condition, and then continued to scan the room, probing and assessing.
Duo was slouched in his chair, hair frazzled and jacket askew as he fidgeted uneasily. Flipping a pen between his fingers, he met Quatre's inquiring gaze with a wry, one-sided grin. Street instincts and empathic prescience both agreed: masks were going to be ripped away in this room. Quatre knew how much Duo relied on his.
In contrast to Duo's fidgeting, Wufei was statue-still. His chin was lifted, his face a study in inscrutability. Only the white-knuckled grip of his hand on the chair arm gave his feelings away, tendons standing out from the skin in evidence of an angry confusion that mirrored Quatre's own.
The other occupants of the room were an unwelcome surprise: a disgruntled Professor G, hunched and scowling from behind his gray hair; the giant Master O, sitting with arms folded; the rotund Instructor H, and Doktor S. Of them all, he seemed the least apprehensive. They sat in a separate grouping on the far side of the table, opposite of their former agents. The green-uniformed Preventer guards behind them spoke eloquently of the lack of choice given them in attending.
Quatre finally looked at the last occupant of the room, sitting quietly at the head of the long table. At first Lady Une seemed remarkably calm, her hands folded over a small stack of manila folders. Then he looked at her face--and a sharp spike of fear filtered through the numbness at the glacial fury that lurked behind that unsmiling facade.
Une waited, narrow-eyed, until the door had clicked closed behind the last of Trowa and Quatre's escort.
"Thank you for coming, gentlemen." Picking up the stack of files, she tossed them onto the center of the table. The reports slid haphazardly across its polished surface as she snapped, "Let's cut straight to the chase, shall we? On January 26th, 1800 hours C.S.T.*, a certain colony news network who shall *not* remain nameless made a very special broadcast. During this broadcast, an investigative reporter named Miles Farley alleged that all of the former Gundam pilots--three of whom are officers in good standing among the Preventers, one a relatively well-known entertainer, and one a scion of the business world--underwent genetic manipulations during the wars in order to have abilities and talents far superior to that of the average human. He also claimed that it was these experimental procedures that allowed them to pilot the Gundams in several major attacks here on Earth in an abortive variant of 'Operation Meteor'. To complete his report--which, by the way, has been picked up by all the colony and Earth news networks--he produced rather damning and detailed evidence. While he did not divulge from where he got his documentation, my sources tell me that he obtained this information from hackers who had accessed some of the colonies' old wartime databases."
"...thought we'd agreed to erase all of that data?" Professor G muttered fiercely at his colleagues.
S shrugged slightly. "We were all pretty mobile during the war... maybe they found fragmented backups in the colony hardware... "
"Ahem!" The muttered argument abruptly stopped.
Une gave her captive audience a frosty glare. "Ever since then, I have been fielding enquiries from every newshound in space. I have the representatives of the United Earth Sphere Alliance screeching about 'dangerous breaches of security' and rogue operatives within the Preventers. I have hysterical e-mails cluttering up my inbox, angry calls tying up my phone lines, and protesters littering my lawn!"
Her voice turned low and deadly. "Gentlemen, my question is very simple. Would anyone care to explain exactly why I was not informed of this?!"
Silence descended. Lady Une's statement darkened even further as she waited, until finally Doktor S gave a soft, embarrassed cough.
"In defense of your officers, my Lady, I do not believe they intended to betray your trust. Indeed, I have been informed by my colleagues--" he shot a brief glance over to the other three, "--that our respective pilots were only told varying degrees of the truth."
Une's eyes narrowed. "Degrees of the truth? And what exactly *is* the truth?"
Doktor S sighed, and spread his hands helplessly. "What you have already been told, I'm afraid. We did indeed alter these five young men by using highly experimental gene-manipulation techniques."
"Why?" Duo's question was deceptively casual. A flinty chill permeated the stare he exchanged with Professor G.
G snorted, then straightened. "Because we damn well outsmarted ourselves, that's why," he shot back. "We spent *years* designing our perfect Mobile Suits--and then we found out none of our potential pilots could handle the damn things! The Gundams were too fast, too flexible; they stressed the human mind and body far past its natural limits." He switched his glare from Duo over to Lady Une. "And before you ask--no, we couldn't modify them to compensate for that. Our Gundams were true breakthroughs in Mobile Suit technology. Toning them down to the limitations of an average pilot would have negated every technological advantage we'd achieved, and turn them into mere gundanium-armored Mobile Suits. Suits that wouldn't have stood a chance against the Alliance *or* the OZ Special Forces."
"After a few abortive tests with normal pilots, our problem became very clear," Instructor H added. "We required pilots every bit as superlative as our Gundams. Since we were running out of time, we decided to use highly experimental gene therapy to try and give our pilots the edge we needed."
"And you expect me to believe that these alterations were done without their knowledge?" Lady Une asked disbelievingly.
Instructor H nodded, smoothing a hand over his slicked-back hair. "Well, more or less... " he said, avoiding Quatre's gaze.
"Due to the rushed circumstances of Trowa's... availability," Doktor S explained, "I was obliged to explain to him what piloting a Gundam required. He agreed to the alterations."
Feeling the burden of several pairs of eyes, Trowa shrugged minimally. "I chose to stay alive."
Doktor S nodded. "Just so. I am also fairly certain that Heero was aware of the... alterations Dr. J had made."
Lady Une turned to Heero. "Is that accurate, Yuy?"
"That is correct," Heero replied calmly. "I was heavily trained as well as physically modified from an early age. Until recently, it never occurred to me that such things might not be normal procedure in a soldier's training."
"As for the other three," G interjected, "None of them were told. The surgeries and injections were all done under the guise of normal medical procedures--usually after they'd had some accident or another in the course of their training."
Duo's glare was lethal in its intensity. His voice, in contrast, was eerily calm. "You fucking bastard. Why didn't you tell me?"
G snorted. "With the way you feel about doctors and hospitals? That would have gone over *real* well. 'By the way, Duo, I'd like to perform some highly experimental surgery on you. Don't worry--if it doesn't kill you, it'll simply change your metabolism right down to the cellular level.' " He shook his head. "There was no way you would have let me proceed."
"Master O and I also concealed the truth from Quatre and Wufei," Instructor H said softly, wringing his hands. "Because of his clan's taboo on such things in Wufei's case--"
"...it dishonors the legacy left by our ancestors... " Wufei whispered harshly, his face white and set.**
"--and because of Quatre's father in his." H looked over at Quatre's still, stunned form apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Quatre... but I couldn't tell you. Your father disapproved of your actions as it was; if he knew what I intended, he would have moved heaven and earth to stop it. There was no way I could risk that."
Quatre had no reply. He stared glassily at the man he had trusted, his mind running in circles. {{29 test-tube sisters... 29 test-tube sisters... and his only natural son turned into a genetic freak... }}
Lady Une's cold fury had not abated, even given the fact that she, more than anyone, understood the cruelties created by the fanaticism of war. If anything, her anger was even greater at the sight of Quatre's white-faced betrayal, Duo and Wufei's outrage--and now focused solely onto the small group of colony Scientists. "And the results of your... experiments?"
"The results varied from subject to subject, which is only natural considering the variation in their genetic codes," Doktor S replied. "We were initially aiming for heightened strength and speed, quicker reflexes and augmented stamina. Secondary goals were keener sensory input and accelerated healing." He shifted uneasily under the pilots' unrelenting stares. "Thankfully, none of you died during the process, and we achieved most of what we were aiming for... to a greater or lesser degree."
S inclined his head toward the former pilot of Wing. "According to Dr. J, Heero seemed to 'take' the strongest to the physical alterations: heightened strength, stamina, and so on. Trowa also responded well to the physical enhancements, mostly in stamina and flexibility. However, it was his reflexes that improved the most--reflex time dropped down to nearly a third of what it had been previously."
Master O spoke for the first time, his voice a deep bass rumble. "I also recorded similar heightened physical abilities in Wufei. He showed marked all-around improvement after the surgeries, as well as improved healing abilities. The genetic alterations proved to be the most telling in the mental and sensory areas; tactical abilities and situational awareness went nearly off the charts." He glanced over at G, who continued.
"Duo's metabolism was a bit odd to begin with--don't snarl at *me*, boy, it's not like that's my fault!--so his recovery produced a few unexpected results. Strength and stamina were boosted only minimally, just enough to let him pilot a Gundam. Speed went damn near through the roof, though, as did sensory ability. The boy can hear a pin drop from a half-mile away, and sees like a cat." G reported, sounding proud and disgruntled all at once. "Not at all what I expected."
Unlike G, Instructor H was slumped and miserable. "Quatre's results were also unusual--to this day, I still don't understand why the enhancements turned out like they did." He wrung his hands nervously. "Like Duo, his strength and stamina were only minimally improved. They were still greater than a normal human's, of course, but nowhere near the levels achieved by some of the others. Instead, his enhancements seemed to focus on heightened mental and tactical abilities. His brain functions jumped tremendously, and his strategic skills along with it. I also suspected Quatre was developing something similar to E.S.P.--but he hid his empathic abilities so well that I was never able to confirm it." His voice dwindled off uncertainly. Silence descended once again, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall.
"Why didn't you tell us afterwards, at least?" Quatre's anguished question echoed through the quiet room, and the group of scientists shifted uneasily.
His voice rose. "The wars were over. You'd gotten what you needed. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!" Only Trowa's hands on his shoulders kept Quatre in his seat.
"Due to the secrecy of the Gundam war effort," Doktor S began, only to be cut off by an irate G.
"Dammit, S, stop dancing around and just tell them the truth!" He turned back to the waiting pilots. "The Winner boy is right--we could have told you after the war. But we didn't. Why? Because then we'd have to admit what *else* we'd done to the five of you."
"What do you mean?" Wufei asked slowly.
"Think about it. We told you--these were *experimental* techniques. I'm amazed they worked at all. But like all radical surgeries, there were some... side effects."
"Side effects?"
"Tradeoffs. Complications. Call it whatever ya want," G snapped. "You don't just go monkeying around with the basic genetic code of a living thing without consequences. It was a calculated risk."
"Preliminary analysis of the changes induced in your bodies indicated some rather startling side effects, " Master O rumbled. "Part of augmentation we made for accelerated healing seems to have developed a few quirks on the cellular level. Your cells do have the ability to reproduce at a greatly increased rate, which is what we were aiming for. Unfortunately, they seem to have gotten the indicators for normal growth somewhat scrambled. Cellular decay seems to have been drastically inhibited by a very rigid form of homeostasis, while at the same time, mitosal efficiency has been increased, extending even to cells that normally would not be able to regenerate." He paused. "To put it simply, your natural development is being inhibited. Additionally, it seems your lifespans have been greatly increased."
"Whoa! Whaddaya mean, inhibited and increased?" Duo snapped.
"It means you're probably never gonna achieve your full adult body mass, boy," G replied. "You five do seem to be progressing somewhat beyond adolescence, which is a relief. We were afraid you were all going be stuck at a hormonal fifteen. However, that doesn't seem to be the case, and it certainly would be interesting to know why. Perhaps the cellular rate of decay... " He trailed off, muttering speculatively about age markers until Une called him sharply to order.
"Professor!" she snapped. "This is not a research endeavor. Answer the other part of the question!"
"Other part? Oh--that. Well, this degree of homeostasis, coupled with their regenerative capabilities, seems to be inhibiting the normal processes of aging. Because of this, we believe their lifespans have been greatly increased."
"By how much?" Une asked.
"According to our projections," Doktor S replied, "And barring fatal injury, they can expect to live somewhere in the realm of one hundred and fifty to two hundred years of age. This is all hypothetical, of course, but our observations thus far seem to confirm it."
"Two hundred years?" Duo echoed, stunned.
"Give or take a few decades," G confirmed. " Arthritis and creaky knees will probably be minimal. You might start feeling the effects of age towards the end, but your cells will just keep going at it full bore, non-stop, right up until the day your mitochondria finally run out of juice. Then you'll have a systemic collapse of all vital functions--and all five of you will die."
Duo continued to shake his head in disbelief. "... two hundred years... "
"Is that all?" Une asked sharply.
"Well... no," Instructor H admitted. "There is, of course, always the possibility of other side effects cropping up in the future that we haven't foreseen. So far we've seen no sign of cancerous growth or other problems, but... " He spread his hands helplessly.
"We also discovered another problem shortly after the initial changes were made," O added. For the first time, he seemed uneasy as he talked. "Apparently we had... underestimated the amount of cellular energy such heightened abilities would require. In order to provide the energy demanded by our alterations, your bodies compensated by... co-opting the energy resources needed from other bodily functions. Specifically--the reproductive system."
Quatre clutched at the table in shock. Wufei went utterly still, and whispered, "You mean... "
"I am sorry--" O bowed slightly in his seat, eyes lowered to the table. "--but you are all sterile. None of you will ever be able to father children."
There was dead silence.
Then Wufei dived across the table--intent on killing them all.
"Wufei's entire clan had died in the war," Quatre explained. "He was the only one who could have had children to continue the line. The Scientists had taken choice that away from him, without his knowledge or consent." He looked away, fists clenched by renewed grief. "They did that to all of us--turned all five of us into sterile, mutated versions of humanity. Just so they could win their war."
"Is that why you were put into hibernation?" Citan asked gently.
"Yes," Quatre replied, his voice bitter. "The public found out about the changes. It got ugly. Our lives were threatened, and our friends thought it best that we should go to this new colony until things were calmer. We were put into cryo-chambers for the trip. What happened after that--" he shrugged, "--I don't know. Obviously, something went wrong."
"Apparently," Fei said sarcastically. Quatre turned, startled by the sudden spike of anger directed at their unknown tormentors. "Seems to be a universal reaction, doesn't it? Got something you don't understand and can't control? Ya freeze it solid and lock it up." Fei Fei sat back on his heels, his gaze flat and angry.
"Fei, I... " Citan began, pushing himself upright.
Fei suddenly wobbled, anger fading as suddenly as it had arrived. "'S alright, Doc. Was the best thing to do at the time. 'M just tired and cranky, is all... " He blinked owlishly, and began to slide sideways. Sigurd lunged forward, catching the younger man before his head cracked against the floor.
"I should have known... " he muttered. Noticing Citan and Quatre's alarm, Sigurd hastened to explain. "Don't worry, it's just extreme exhaustion. Fei spent almost all of yesterday healing Billy--his wounds were very severe. I thought he'd had time to recover his strength." He grimaced. "Apparently I was wrong. Elly is going to skin me alive."
"But he is going to be okay, right?" Quatre asked worriedly.
Citan and Sigurd exchanged a significant glance. Citan commented, "I'm sure he'll recover given enough rest. Perhaps, Sigurd, I'm not the one you should consider tying to the bed after all."
"I'll make sure to give Elly your suggestion," Sigurd returned dryly.
Quatre followed their friendly banter with a dawning sense of relief. Concern over their mutual friend aside, Sigurd and Citan seemed to be completely at ease despite what he had just revealed. "Ah... are you sure you're okay with this?"
"With what?" Citan asked.
"Well... with us," Quatre replied. "You seem to be rather calm, considering I just told you that we're all, um... mutants, and very long-lived ones, at that."
"Quatre," Citan said soberly, "I can assure you that there is not a single person on this *planet* who has not been genetically altered in some way, myself included. Deus--and Solaris--saw to that. That you have enhanced abilities because of this is certainly no crime."
He smiled at the slow-dawning relief in Quatre's face, and remarked, "As to your lifespans--I have served an Emperor who lived for over ten *thousand* years. Compared to that, two centuries doesn't seem all that long." Citan rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Quatre blinked in shock, scarcely daring to believe his ears. "Rest assured, my new friend. All of you are indeed welcome here."
End Part Fifteen
Notes:
*Colony Standard Time
**This is an actual Chinese tradition. I don't know the details, but apparently blood and vital organs are considered to be sacred gifts from one's ancestors. It is this belief that has contributed to a critical shortage of blood donations and organ transplants in modern-day China.
(:./hope/dream15)
