1998
All characters of Gundam Wing belong to Sunrise and other legal copyright owners.
This fic is just something I did to use up the time I don't have. No money is being made off this enterprise, so please don't sue this pathetic fic writer who can't even decide which tenses to use.
I don't have any money worth suing anyway.
All comments, criticisms, flames (in moderate amounts, ja!) and whatever else you might want to say may be hurled via e-mail at: shirini@pc.jaring.my
Give me two minutes! Just two more minutes!
Duo's mouth was set in a thin line as he aimed at the men who had started this whole mess. One went down as the Deathscythe pilot's bullet struck home. He had expected his first shot to go wild, intending it to have been another diversionary tactic. But it seemed that Death was busy tonight as he gave a slight nod of satisfaction when the second man fell. Two down, three to go. He looked back to see that Trowa had made it through. Heaving a sigh of relief, he got up to run toward the exit but several bullets whizzing through the air made him crouch down once more.
Hell and damnation!
Hefting the gun in his right hand, Duo decided to make a dash for the door. Shooting as he got up, the boy started to move, pumping his legs as hard as he could.
Almost there!
His hand was on the handle when he suddenly felt a hot, sharp pain in his head. A warm flow of liquid wet his face, blinding him momentarily. Suddenly all he could see was red.
Then everything mercifully faded to black...
Trowa's heart sank when he saw one of the men that had been chasing them come out through the exit. He could see the large silhouette of the man frantically turn this way and that, probably looking for him. Trowa ducked in the driver's seat but it was too late. The man had spotted him, hearing the idling engine. A shot rang out, cracking the windshield. Trowa gunned the engine and the car shot out, speeding into the night.
Behind him, their pursuer swore and let out another shot that went wild. Muttering under his breath, the man re-entered the building. The place was not safe for them anymore. They would have to get out of here before the authorities came.
"The Winner boy's gone!" Callan said, wheezing. The thin, dark-haired man bent over, clutching his knees, drawing in long breaths. He had rushed to check on their cash cow as soon as the other boy fell and had rushed back with the unwelcome news.
"Jenks and Mahon are dead," Franz 's grim voice stated flatly. "The money's still here," his other partner continued, nodding toward the briefcase beside Callan.
The large man cursed silently, running his fingers through his short, dirty blonde hair. This was not going as he had planned it! They were supposed to have made a clean getaway, all the five of them. No one was supposed to die! None of them, that is. His eyes fell upon the inert body at his feet. He had thought that it was a girl at first, judging from the hair. But now he saw that the body on the ground was male. He nudged the body with his foot, turning it over. The boy's clothes were dirty, the dried mud on it making paiseley-like patterns on the black background of his outfit. The boy looked like he was asleep, the only indication otherwise being that half his face was covered with blood.
Two men! Two of his men! His friends! Killed by this *boy*!
An animal-like growl rose from his throat as he aimed a swift, hard kick at the prone body.
All his plans! Gone to shit!
Another kick.
And now they'd be on the run.!
Another well-placed kick.
"Hey, Jake! Cut it out!" Franz pulled him back by the shoulder. "Kicking a dead body's not gonna solve anything. We've gotta get outta here."
"Well, he's dead isn't he? So what's a few more broken bones?" Jake aimed another vicious kick at the boy's side. This time, however, the 'dead' body groaned, eliciting a look of surprise from both men.
Franz dropped to his haunches and felt for the boy's pulse.
Weak, but steady.
"He's still alive."
"Good," the larger man smiled, a cold gleam in his eye. "When he wakes up, he's gonna wish he hadn't."
Jake turned, walking toward the cruiser. "Come on, let's get outta here. And bring the boy," he barked at the remainder of his team. "We'll take the truck. They've probably ID'd the cruiser."
Franz looked back at the long-haired boy at his feet. The boy had drifted back into unconsciousness. As he bent to pick up the slight body, he couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't want to be in this boy's shoes for all the ransom money in the colonies.
It was dark in the alley, but the darkness suited his purpose. Trowa shifted uneasily in his seat, gripping the steering wheel nervously. Behind him, Quatre mumbled incoherently, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. Beside him, the tracker blipped silently, the red light going on and off, assuring him that the homing device still worked. He had turned into this alley after driving off from the warehouse. From under the cover of the alley's shadows, he kept watch on the warehouse, half-hoping that Duo would somehow emerge from it unharmed.
Previously, Trowa had given Quatre a cursory once-over and had been satisfied that the young blonde was suffering from nothing more than an overdose of a sleep-inducing drug. Given Quatre's current state of restlessness, Trowa surmised that the boy would wake up soon.
Meanwhile, he continued to keep his vigil.
Shaking.
His whole world was shaking.
Earthquake!
Duo's eyes snapped open, startled. Reflexively, he tried to sit up but discovered that he could not.
Shit! I can't move anything!
His head felt like it was about to split open, releasing his brain that seemed to be playing basketball in his skull. His arms and legs refused to obey his commands, remaining frustratingly passive in their secure bonds. He looked around at his surroundings whilst trying to adjust to the relatively brighter conditions and the nauseating way everything that he saw seemed to overlap. He was on the floor of a large vehicle, trussed up with ungiving ropes. The vehicle seemed to be moving at a high speed, Duo judged from the sound of the engine and the way his surroundings shook, adding to his already blurred, double vision. He tried pulling at the ropes that held his arms immobile behind him but only succeeded in producing a grunt of pain as the ropes cut deeper into the parts of his flesh that was uncovered. Not only were his wrists bound together, but his arms were also held tightly against his body, painfully pulled back by ropes that wound around his arms and his torso.
He turned over on his side and hissed with pain and surprise when he felt sharp aches radiating over his body. He pulled his legs up, bringing his knees to his chest in an effort to dull the throbbing in his side, but the violently moving vehicle only seemed to make it worse. Duo closed his eyes and moaned, and promptly opened them again when a creaking sound fell on his ears.
"You're awake, boy?"
Duo looked up, squinting against the bright bulb that shone from the ceiling. There was someone here!
"Whe..!"
A sudden jerk on his hair silenced him as painful fingers pulled his head up. Duo felt something give under that grip, something that made his head feel warm and wet.
"Shut up! You're in no position to ask questions, whelp. You and your friend cost me plenty and boy, I'm gonna make sure you pay for it."
"Friend...?" Duo gasped out from under the haze of pain that was starting to fog his mind. Did Trowa make it? Was Quatre safe?
"Oh? Still have a voice, do you?" The hand in Duo's hair tightened its grip, lifting him up bodily. The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, impacting with a hard, metallic wall. "Your friends are gone, boy. They probably think you're dead."
Death dead?
Duo could not resist smiling as that idiotic question suddenly popped into his mind. But the smile only came out as a grimace as he bit back against the wave of nausea that suddenly washed over him, clouding the throbbing ache in his skull. Dark spots danced before his eyes as he felt his grip on consciousness begin to slip. At least Trowa and Quatre got away, he thought grimly. All he had to do was last until they found him. As unconsciousness claimed him, he just barely heard his tormentor's reply to some unheard question :
"...just having some fun..."
It had been over an hour!
Trowa fidgeted as he waited in the darkness. Beside him, Quatre sat silently. Quatre had been awake for the past forty minutes, during which he had relieved Trowa as the taller boy went in search of alternate means of communication. He had finally managed to contact Rasheed from a small store a few blocks away. Now the Arabian general was only awaiting Quartre's orders, having positioned his troops and mobile suits in strategic positions around the warehouse.
"Do you think he's OK?" Quatre's small voice broke the uneasy silence.
Trowa glanced toward the blonde beside him, noticing the way the other boy gnawed absently at his knuckles. He had no doubt that Quatre was worried. He worried about everyone, Trowa thought. Except himself. Trowa also knew that Quatre felt guilty.
"Hey," he said, giving Quatre's knee a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. Duo'll be OK. You know how he always manages to get out of these situations."
Quatre looked back at Trowa, squeezing the other's hand on his knee before returning his gaze back to the silent street.
"I'll never forgive myself, Trowa, if..." A small sob made the boy's voice quiver.
Trowa leaned over and pulled the smaller boy into his arms, hugging him and holding him as close as he could. "Hush, Little One. It's not your fault," he whispered into the Arabian's ear, all the while running his long fingers through the fine golden hair. Trowa held Quatre for a little while longer, until the heaving breaths that wracked through the smaller frame stopped. Finally, Quatre pulled away, hastily dabbing away unseen tears from his eyes. They sat in silence, waiting until Trowa could wait no longer.
"It's too long. Something's not right," Trowa said, worry edging his words. On the dashboard, the tracking signal continued its silent blipping, the red light flashing without any change in frequency.
"Tell Rasheed we're going in," he motioned to Quatre, opening the car door.
"Right!"
Empty! The warehouse was empty!
They had entered the warehouse, again through the front exit, after ascertaining that their presence was unnoticed. The added presence of Rasheed's mobile suited troops gave them some feeling of security as they made their way inside. The first thing Trowa saw was the small pool of congealed blood on the floor, confirming his worst fears. The next thing he noticed was the cruiser, parked in the middle of the building. No wonder the tracker had not detected any movement! It was then that Quatre had alerted Rasheed, and for the next few minutes, his men had turned the warehouse upside-down in search of clues to their friend's whereabouts.
And they had turned up nothing.
Trowa resisted the sudden urge to stamp his foot, remembering that it was an action Duo liked to do whenever the latter was feeling frustrated. Instead, Trowa kicked at the parked cruiser's wheel, relishing the ache that resulted. The throbbing in his toes helped him to focus his mind on their next course of action, whatever it might be. Quatre's footsteps caused him to look up.
"Trowa! The men found tire tracks in the back. They must have escaped in another vehicle," Quatre related breathlessly.
Trowa cursed under his breath. "That means they've probably been gone for some time now." Quatre nodded, concern obvious in his eyes.
"Why didn't I think of that? Why?" Trowa growled, throwing a punch at the side of the cruiser. Quatre's grip on his arm stopped him just as his fist was about to make contact.
"Trowa," Quatre's quiet voice soothed the anger in Trowa's heart. "You said it wasn't my fault. Well, it's not yours either."
Looking into the blue pools before him, Trowa felt his heart melt, and with it went the anger.
Well, most of it, anyway.
It did not make Trowa feel any less guilty about not being able to predict the kidnappers' next move. But Quatre's presence made it easier for him to cope, easier for him to handle this sudden heaviness in his heart.
"Come on," Quatre urged, putting his arm around the taller pilot. "There must be a way to find out where he is. Who knows? Maybe we'll be able to track that long hair of his."
"Um. Maybe," Trowa acquiesced to a tired smile. His hand rummaged in his pocket, taking out a small, box-like object. He looked at the tracker in his hands, the red light still flashing incessantly.
If only it *could* track Duo's hair, he sighed. If only...
Quatre turned toward the tall boy beside him as Trowa stopped in his tracks. A strange look lit up Trowa's green eyes and an ecstatic half-smile played on his lips.
"Trowa? Doushita...?"
Trowa did not answer as he put his trembling fingers to work, adjusting the frequency on the tracking device.
Come on, Duo. Show some sense...
The tracker beeped suddenly, signalling the frequency change. The red light flashed slowly, the intervals between flashes increasing with time.
Yes!
"Quickly!" Trowa pulled Quatre along as they ran outside. "Tell Rasheed to follow. I think I've got Duo but he's moving fast. We haven't time to lose!"
End Part Four
Shirin
Please send comments to: shirini@pc.jaring.my