13-Dec-2001
Title: Double Blind
Author: Lilias
Category: Drama
Pairing: 2+4
Rating: R (for violence, language)
What to expect: Shounen-ai, mild angst, violence. I couldn't find a way to work around the building explosion that's central to this part of the manga, so it's still here--I mean no disrespect to those affected by the events of 9/11. Spoilers: Minor ones, for the Blind Target manga (more info below). Disclaimer: GW belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu Agency; I intend no infringement upon their rights. Notes: This fic builds on a pair of scenes from Blind Target #1, which means it's set after the series but before EW. Some scenes and dialogue are taken directly from the (translated) manga, but the romance itself is (sadly enough) entirely my invention. ^_~
This fic is a Christmas present for Quatre-sama, with all my love. ^___^ It's your boy and my boy, meimei! Hope you like it! (I'll warn you in advance that there's a line in here that's going to crack you up at a very serious moment, Q-sama--but I liked it so much that I had to leave it in. ^_^;;;)
/ denotes thoughts;
_ denotes italics/emphasis -------
With a little more practice, Duo decided, he could really get used to this 'peace' gig. The pace was just about right, for one thing: make a delivery or two in the morning, spend the afternoon catching up with an old friend--
Just a friend. Right.
Duo caught himself whistling a sickeningly happy tune, and cut himself off before the shoujo bubbles could make an appearance; no sense alarming the techs in the shuttle bay, after all.
The comlink was chiming indignantly as he made his way into the shuttle's cockpit.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold on half a second--" Shoving a stack of manifests off the instrument panel, he flipped the reply switch. "Yeah? Maxwell here."
Heero's familiar face blinked into view on the comscreen. "Duo."
"Heero? Hey!" Duo propped an elbow on the console. "This is out of the blue. Where've you been?"
Heero wasted no time on pleasantries. "Quatre is at that colony, isn't he?"
"Hm? Yeah, he's off to the colony conference. I was just with him." In fact, he could still feel the fragility of a bone-china cup in his palm, and the malty sweetness of assam lingered on his tongue. Realizing he was grinning again, Duo was about to take cover behind a joke when something in Heero's expression triggered alarm. "Why? Is something wrong?"
Heero's gaze didn't waver. "They're after Quatre."
"Who?" For a moment Duo's face was wide open, mirroring unguarded shock; then the shutters came down, and his eyes were as flat and deadly as his tone. "_What do you mean?_"
"Still working on motive," Heero replied. "There are people who don't want this unification to succeed, and Quatre's the most visible target among the colony delegates. But I'm not sure that's all that's going on--it could have more to do with his role as a gundam pilot."
Duo was patting his pockets, checking to make sure his usual stash of small weaponry was fully stocked. "What kind of attack are we looking at?"
"I'm still collecting information," Heero said. "But in the meantime--"
"I'm on it." Duo reached decisively for the comlink. "Maxwell out."
He checked his watch on the way out the door: less than fifteen minutes before Quatre was due to arrive at the conference. Even if Duo sprouted wings, there was no way he could hope to get there first. But maybe, just maybe, if he got his hands on some wheels--
He stumbled once, nearly falling head-first down the shuttle ramp; but he got his feet back under him before the startled techs could do more than look up in surprise, and then he was off and running.
/Don't you dare die on me, Winner./
In fact, the motorcade was half an hour behind schedule; the lead limousine's engine had overheated, and precious minutes had ticked away while they waited for the radiator to cool enough for refilling.
Quatre appeared maddeningly unconcerned, and continued to gaze calmly out the window as they sped between the high white buildings of the colony's governmental sector. The staffers riding with him were not nearly so serene, however, and were practically levitating with anxiety as the conference center finally came into view.
One of the aides checked his watch, frowning. "We'll need to hurry."
He was preaching to the choir; Quatre had his door open before the limousine could come to a complete stop, and was moving up the wide marble steps while his aides were still scrambling from the car.
As they reached the top of the steps, though, Quatre wheeled to look back, tilting his head as though listening.
His bodyguards stopped too, fidgeting visibly at the delay; one of them put a concerned hand on Quatre's arm. "Sir?"
"It's nothing." Quatre shook his head. "Let's go." But he couldn't help glancing back once more, one hand rising unconsciously to press against his chest. /It felt...like...someone had called me./
They had barely stepped off the elevator when the corridor dissolved in flame.
A small crowd of curious colonists had gathered to watch the delegates arrive, and a cordon of bored police officers had been mustered to hold the milling spectators at bay. At the sound of running footsteps, one of the officers swung around--just in time to be shoved aside as a dark blur sped past.
"Hey!" the officer sputtered, making a grab for Duo's arm. "Where do you think you're going? This area is off-limits!
"Too bad." Duo feinted left and ran for the entrance. "I've got to get in there!"
He had just reached the foot of the steps when a blast rocked the building, sending debris raining down onto the terrified crowd. Duo reeled for only a moment, but it was long enough for two policemen to catch up; one put a heavy hand on his shoulder to drag him back.
They froze, forming a shocked tableau on the sidewalk as another, larger explosion followed; red flame billowed from the topmost windows.
"Damn it--let me through!" Yanking free of the stunned officers, Duo bolted for the door. "Quatre!"
The elevators were inoperative; that much Duo had expected. But the stairs were also nearly impassable, crowded with people fleeing the upper floors. Flattening himself against the wall of the stairwell, he made it up to only about the fifth floor before running into the first billows of smoke.
The tide of escaping people had slowed to a trickle, and only a few stragglers were still making their way down the staircase. Duo caught one retreating businessman by the arm. "What floor did you come from? Were you at the unification conference?"
A weary shake of the head, and then the man managed, "Four floors down. Twenty-six."
Duo grimaced, and was about to go on climbing when the man called after him. "Don't bother, kid." When Duo turned, the man's eyes were haunted and bloodshot above his makeshift mask. "Nobody up there's getting out."
He stumbled on down the stairs, leaving Duo to stare up into the increasingly hazy stairwell. Cold reason informed him that the salaryman was probably right; and even if anyone was alive up there to rescue, he wasn't equipped to do it. Without the proper gear, Duo knew, he would suffocate long before he got anywhere near the floor where the conference was to have been held. He sagged against the wall, barely noticing that it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe.
/Again. It's all happening again. And I never make it in time./
And this time it was Quatre. Quatre, who had walked through more fire than any of them--and whose brightness hadn't been dimmed by the heat of those flames, only tempered. It was enough to make a faithless man believe in holiness again. Had been enough, anyway.
/Quatre--I never told you--/
"Hey--you there!"
Duo looked up, squinting to make out a human shape in the haze. "Wh-what?" It came out as a croak, barely recognizeable as speech.
Emergency personnel loomed out of the haze, goggles and masks turning them into alien insects. "You need to clear the stairs, sir."
Duo tried to hold his ground. "But my friend--"
/Just a friend. Right./ Pain twisted in his chest, making it even harder to breathe.
A gloved hand tugged brusquely at his shoulder, spurring him into reluctant motion. "Go on, get out of here."
Icy nausea clawed at his stomach as he forced himself to take one step back down the stairs, and then another.
Back in the lobby, confusion reigned: a bottleneck had formed at the front entrance, and the masses of people waited in varying degrees of panic for their chance to rush through the glass doors. Some had discovered the back exits, though, and Duo joined a determined knot of people edging in that direction.
And in the alley behind the doomed convention center, between the dumpster and the loading docks, he came upon a group of dark-suited bodyguards clustered around a familiar shock of light-blond hair.
At first Duo didn't believe his eyes. He blinked, and blinked again, and then tried to speak; all he could manage was a rasping whisper. "Quatre?"
He started forward, and was only a few yards away when Quatre cried out in sudden pain, both hands clutching at his chest as he crumpled to the ground.
Cursing, Duo shoved his way past the startled aides. They started to protest, but then one of them spoke up: "It's all right--he's a friend of Mr. Winner. The one who came by this morning."
Duo didn't even register their presence, all his attention focused on the figure at their feet. Quatre was huddled against the wall, breathing in short, agonized gasps; his face, never ruddy, held a greenish pallor. He turned unfocused eyes toward the sound of approaching footsteps. "Duo? How--?"
"Easy, Quatre. Don't try to move." Duo's eyes burned, and he tried to convince himself it was only from the dust and smoke.
One of the bodyguards came forward as if to help Quatre to his feet. "I don't think he's injured, sir--"
Duo whirled on him, teeth bared in a snarl. "Don't fucking touch him until I make sure!"
The aide backed off, raising his hands in placation.
Duo turned back to Quatre, running practiced hands over him to check for fractures. "Just keep breathing, buddy." No external signs of injury, except for a graze along his cheek; but even that wasn't bleeding badly. Hard to rule out internal damage at this point, especially since Quatre was obviously in great pain; tense and trembling under Duo's careful hands, Quatre moaned again.
"What is it?" Frantic, Duo caught at Quatre's clenched fists. "Dammit, Quatre, talk to me--where are you hurt?"
Quatre shook his head sharply. "Not me," he gritted out. "Inside."
Understanding hit Duo like a sledgehammer. "We've got to get him out of here. He's picking up on the people in the building."
"There's a delivery van down at the corner," offered one of the bodyguards. "I'll go see if I can get it started."
"Make it fast," Duo called after him, telling the others, "Whoever set that bomb might be stopping by to make sure he got the job done."
"You don't think--" The tallest of the three bodyguards looked faintly sick.
"Yeah. We have reason to think Quatre was the target." Duo gathered Quatre up with disturbingly little effort. "Jesus, Winner. Don't you eat?"
Quatre managed the ghost of a smile. "Every so often."
"Well, eat _more_. I've seen chubbier toothpicks."
"S-sorry." It was only a whisper, and then Quatre faded out of consciousness again.
Duo shook his head. "You really should've been born Catholic, Q. Waste of perfectly good guilt."
The hot-wired van jounced to a halt next to them; the two remaining aides stopped hovering and hurried to get the side door open.
"Get those boxes off the seat," Duo directed. "He might do better lying flat." He eased Quatre onto the second of three bench seats, and then looked around for something to support his head. When a quick search turned up nothing, Duo set his jaw in resignation and slid onto the seat next to him, lifting Quatre's head into his lap. Quatre turned painfully onto his side, hanging on to Duo's pants just above the knee with a sigh that sounded like relief. The side door slammed, and the van jerked away from the curb.
Very carefully refusing to analyze his own actions, Duo reached for Quatre's hand; it seemed suddenly imperative to make sure those chapped knuckles had actual substance, so translucent and ephemeral they seemed. Quatre didn't move, and only frowned a little when the van took a corner sharply enough to jar him where he lay.
"You guys got a safe place in mind?" Duo forced his eyes away from Quatre's ashen face to scan the street ahead of them.
The tall guard nodded eagerly. "The family has a house on--"
"That's the first place they'll look," the driver pointed out. "There's a little hotel on Delancey that might do." He blushed, adding sheepishly, "The receptionist has sort of a crush on me--I can book the room, and then keep her distracted while you bring Mr. Winner in through the back."
"Sounds like a plan," Duo affirmed, and was about to relax back against the seat when Quatre struggled as if trying to sit up. "What is it, Q?"
"So much." Quatre's eyes were open again, and slightly more focused.
Duo rubbed absently at a smear of soot on the back of Quatre's hand. "Hang in there--we're moving it as fast as we can."
"Mostly you, now." Quatre flailed until he made contact with Duo's chest, then patted gently. "Shh."
Duo froze. "Me?"
"You worry so _loud_," Quatre informed him wearily.
Duo gave a shaky laugh. "Sorry, buddy. I'll try to keep it down." He brushed at the plaster dust whitening the pale-blond bangs. "Just thought I--thought we lost you, is all."
"No such luck," Quatre murmured, and appeared to be drifting off as he continued, "It's all right, Duo. Usually it feels kind of nice."
"Nice?" Just when he had almost gotten comfortable, Duo was shocked back into incoherence. "_Usually_? What--"
"Shh," Quatre said again, eyes closed. "Later."
Four hours later, Quatre was pacing the length of a small hotel room, nursing a barely-warm mug of strong tea. There was a brisk knock at the door, and then Duo's voice. "It's me."
Quatre opened the door, his face brightening with welcome for a moment before settling back into a distracted frown.
Duo checked the deadbolt twice before he started to wander the room, switching the lamp on and off, picking up the teapot and peeking under its lid. "How's it going, dead man?"
Quatre looked at him reproachfully. "Don't joke, Duo. I'm lucky to be alive."
"Sorry." Duo made an apologetic face. "In the outside world, golden boy Quatre Winner is the most newsworthy victim of the explosion."
"I noticed." Quatre gestured toward the corner, where a continuous stream of somber news pattered from the vidscreen.
'...Among those missing, and presumed dead, is the heir to the renowned Winner empire; sixteen-year-old unification advocate Quatre Raberba Winner was among the colony delegates assembled for today's meeting....'
Quatre reached for the remote, his face tight with disgust; his image on the screen shrank to a pinprick before disappearing. "All those people dead. How can they keep talking about me?"
Duo dropped into an armchair, testing various leaning positions before propping his elbows on his knees; he seemed to be having trouble deciding what to do with his hands, and wasn't making eye contact at all. "You're important to a lot of people, Quatre."
Quatre sent him a searching look, followed by a thoughtful smile. "Thank you." Then he sighed with frustration, continuing, "But there hasn't even been passing mention of what happened to the other delegates, or what's going to happen to the unification initiative now."
Belatedly realizing that he had yet to question the afternoon's miracle, Duo seized on the topic. "So what happened? I thought you were up there, too."
"If we had been on time, I _would_ be dead." Quatre shrugged, trying to speak lightly, but his face remained solemn. "Dumb luck. We happened to be late because of car trouble."
"You always had the devil's luck, even as a gundam pilot." Duo had attempted lightness, too, and the rueful longing in his own voice made him wince.
Quatre smiled faintly, swirling the tea-dregs in his mug. "Abdul says I must have an understanding with Death."
There was tense silence for a moment, and then Duo said simply, "I wish you did."
Quatre looked up at him sideways, giving him time to take it back if he wanted to.
A beat or two behind his cue, Duo tried to turn it into a joke. "I mean, then maybe you wouldn't end up on hit lists quite so often."
Quatre raised an eyebrow, shaking his head slightly.
Duo grimaced. "Don't tell me. I'm--" His hands shaped a radar dish in the air. "Broadcasting. Again."
"You don't have to feel uncomfortable about it, Duo," Quatre said gently. "Emotions aren't under that kind of control."
Duo performed the conversational equivalent of a tuck and roll. "That must get old--getting body-slammed by everybody's feelings all the time. Or is it all the time? I mean, can you hear everybody, or just some people sometimes?"
"It doesn't happen all the time. I only turn into a super-receiver when my own emotions are too high for me to filter properly. There's always a connection to the four of you, though; I can sense it whenever you're feeling something intense. Pain transmits rather... forcefully." Quatre wasn't going to let him divert the conversation that easily, though. "But you're avoiding the subject, Duo. I thought you wanted to know--"
"We don't have to talk about this now," Duo broke in. "Or later, even. Never would be fine by me."
"I think we do." Quatre set his mug down, then leaned back against the little table. "This has been going on for a long time--ever since the desert, isn't that right? And you weren't ever going to bring it up?"
"Yeah. Well." Duo stared down at his boots, finding their polished toes absolutely fascinating. "I didn't want you to know."
"Why not?" Quatre prodded.
Unable to hold still any longer, Duo flung himself out of his chair and started pacing. "Because then you'd feel like you had to be _nice_ about it, try not to hurt my feelings--" He stopped, fixing Quatre with a gaze hot enough to burn. "I want a lot of things, Quatre--but I don't want you to be nice to me."
Quatre faltered, blushing painfully, then recovered in a rush. "But I didn't!" he shot back. "I've known all this time, and nothing's been strange. Has it?"
Duo thought about it. "I guess not," he said slowly. "But maybe I wouldn't even have known the difference--maybe you've just been feeling sorry for me all along, and I was always too dense to notice."
Quatre ducked his head, mumbling, "Dense, maybe. Sorry? Not exactly."
The cryptic assortment of words wasn't telegraphing much in the way of meaning. "What are you talking about?" Duo demanded.
Quatre looked miserable. "I always felt like a voyeur, tuning in like that without your knowledge. I thought about telling you a long time ago--getting it out in the open."
"Why didn't you?" Duo asked gently, not sure where this was going; somehow this would be easier if he could just see Quatre's eyes.
Quatre's answer was almost inaudible. "Because I didn't want it to stop."
For the fourth time in a single day, Duo was left speechless.
"I know--it's selfish. Beyond selfish." Quatre took an unconscious step forward. "But if I could tell you--if you only knew what you _feel_ like, Duo." He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I didn't want to lose that."
Duo had turned away, one arm braced against the wall and the other fist jammed in his pocket.
"Duo?" Quatre ventured at last. "Are you angry with me? I'd understand if you--"
Duo made a strange, strangled noise; only when he finally turned around did Quatre discover that he was laughing. "Emotion junkie."
Relieved, Quatre allowed himself a cautious smile. "Not at all. I can stop any time I want."
"Riiight." Duo flashed Quatre a rather overwhelmed grin, and then ran both hands through his bangs. "Stupid question, Quatre: why did you think that talking to me would make my feelings stop? Or change. Whatever."
"I--I don't seem to be very good at telling people how I feel about them." Quatre sat down at the table and turned his mug around until its handle lined up precisely with that of the teapot. "People have a tendency to leave right afterwards."
Duo's eyes went stormy. "Trowa."
"Trowa," Quatre confirmed. "He--well, he said he needed to simplify his life."
"I'll show him simple," Duo muttered darkly.
"No, he's right." Quatre gave up trying to fold the tea-towel into a perfect square, and clasped his hands between his knees. "I'm cluttered."
Duo snorted. "You have a guest pass to the freak show inside my head, and you have the nerve to call _yourself_ cluttered? Please."
"It's not a freak show," Quatre insisted hotly. "It's--" He cut himself off, looking almost terrified.
"It's what?" Duo asked, holding very still. "Quatre. I won't leave."
"Beautiful," Quatre whispered, hanging his head so that his bangs completely obscured his face. "You're beautiful."
Duo shut his eyes for a moment, then dragged the other chair back from the table and sat down. Quatre remained motionless, hunched as if expecting a blow. When he still hadn't moved after some minutes of silence, Duo cautiously laid his hand on the table within Quatre's angle of vision. Just as stealthily, as though someone might try to stop him, Quatre slipped his own hand from his lap and placed it on the table, too--barely touching Duo's, overlapping only at the fingertips.
After a little while longer, Quatre risked a glance up.
"See?" Duo said. "Still here."
"For now," Quatre admitted.
Duo did _not_ want to ask, but the question wouldn't leave him alone. "Something I need to know, though."
"Mm?" Quatre moved his hand forward slightly, sliding it under Duo's as if to test the fit.
"Is it just the fix?" Duo asked him. "Can you even know whether you like me for me, and not because I lo--because I care about you?"
Quatre thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I can know. I already do. I was thinking about all of us a while ago--what the five of us experienced during the war, what we've all been up to since the peace. I thought about how much I'll miss everyone, when we've all gone our separate ways. And it occurred to me that I could live with seeing everyone occasionally--maybe once a year, something like that." He looked up, his eyes hesitating between blue and green. "But I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you only every so often. I actually got jealous, thinking of all the people you'd be passing on the street, long after you'd forgotten that you ever knew the rest of us. Me. That was when I started concentrating on finding you." He put his free hand to his chest. "Here. So I could store it up, in case it was a long time before...what?"
Duo shook his head, still laughing. "It's worse than I thought."
"It is?"
"Yup. You're not just an emotion junkie--you're a Duo junkie."
"And that's worse."
"Oh, yeah. No known cure for things like that." He nodded authoritatively, then handed Quatre a sly grin. "Take it from a confirmed Quatre addict."
Quatre looked very much like he was about to hurdle the table and pounce, but just then there was a discreet knock at the door. "Mr. Winner? Your meeting?"
Quatre threw Duo a tortured glance. "Right. My meeting."
"It's okay," Duo told him. "We'll have time to talk later."
"Later," Quatre repeated. "Promise?"
"Not going anywhere," Duo said, leaning back in his chair and propping both boots on the table. "See? Be right here when you come back."
"All right, then."
And it was.
-end-
Some notes:
There are many small deviations from the manga in this story, but I wanted to explain one of the major changes I made: the manga specifically says that the building burned to the ground, and that there were no survivors; but since Quatre seemed to be on one of the top floors at the time of the explosion, and he & his staff got out, it didn't make much sense to me that nobody else escaped. Which is why there are plenty of people fleeing the building as Duo's going in. ^_^;; (It's also possible to interpret that panel as showing Quatre encountering the explosion in the lobby, I guess, though that doesn't quite fit with what Duo's seeing from outside....)
And I know Quatre's Newtype-ish empathy doesn't really work quite this way; I'm just fascinated by it, so I sort of took off in a melodramatic direction with the whole idea. Sorry! >_<
(:./lilias/dblind)
