Witness the
A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction by The
Manwell
Sequel to Relinquish the Soul
Possession Arc
Finale
- One -
The Acting Director of the United Earth Sphere
Alliance Preventer Head Quarters Division has never really cared for
Mondays. To Une,
it always seems as if the brief respite of the weekend is just long enough to
recover from the headaches of the week before, but just short enough to prevent
her from accomplishing anything significant or satisfying. That might be because she rarely indulges in
a full 48-hour holiday. Or any holiday
at all. And she has decided that her
dislike of Mondays is not because she must drag herself back to work after a
comfortable but too-short respite. She
dislikes Mondays because they are intrinsically dislikeable.
Today has yet to prove itself to be an exception.
The report on her desk is not an enjoyable read. All one hundred and forty-two pages of it
detail all of the ways in which Preventer forensics experts are sure the Zanoah Base did not explode. She’d been warned that the team’s findings
were inconclusive. But the actual
reading of the report itself is an exercise in frustration.
Nearly as frustrating as the reports she’d received on a former
war outpost maintained by the Bedouin in the
Two unexplainable events of mass death.
They may or may not be connected, but she is very doubtful
that they are merely timely coincidences.
She needs more information.
Information that Trowa Barton, Duo
Maxwell, and Heero Yuy could quite possibly provide.
If they had indeed survived the explosion at Zanoah which, given what little evidence that does
exist, is past the realm of Unlikely and tiptoeing across the border of Impossible.
And it seems she’d lost an agent right around that same
time.
Chang Wufei has not reported for duty since the day before
the inexplicable explosion at Zanoah. She can only speculate on his degree of
investigation. Or
involvement.
The black boxes Preventer agents had recovered at Zanoah had given no indication that Chang has infiltrated
the base. It had only revealed the
presence of Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, and Trowa Barton as they’d performed a
security check of the facility. Dramatic
though it had been to witness, the recordings had given no further clues as to
the cause of the explosion. Although
forensics had isolated the source of the blast, none of the surveillance
equipment had been operating in that particular room at the time. An oversight, perhaps? But why such an obvious one when the Zanoah staff had known in advance that they could expect a
security audit? Une
reaffirms her conclusion: if it had been an oversight, it had been a deliberate
one. What had happened in that
room? And who had wanted to keep it a
secret? She doubts that it was the work
of Maxwell and his partners. Had another
party been involved with the incident, or does the blame truly lie with the
agents manning Zanoah?
So many questions.
Questions that Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell,
and Heero Yuy could likely answer.
But their bodies, as well as the bodies of many others, had
never been recovered. In a blast of that
magnitude, forensics had reported, it is highly unlikely that anyone within ten
meters of the immediate explosion or present in the flame-channeling corridors
would have left any identifiable remains.
The medical examiner had authorized their death certificates only last
week.
Which had brought her back to Special
Agent Chang Wufei.
It had saddened her to issue the warrant for his
detainment, but her regret had been far outweighed by frustration. Nearly two months have passed since the disaster
at Zanoah, and she is no closer to finishing her
report on it than she had been the day after it had occurred.
The only lead she has is a series of satellite photographs
capturing the burned-out remains of what had been identified as Chang Wufei’s
personal vehicle. The lack of any human
remains present at the scene seemed to indicate that no one had been inside the
car when it had exploded. But as to who
had driven it out into the desert, forensics has been unable to find any
evidence amongst the puckered glass, buckled metal, and gutted interior. Although they had reluctantly concluded that
the same type of mysterious explosives that had destroyed the car had also been
used at Zanoah.
What had happened that day?
Who had orchestrated the explosions?
And what, in the name of God, had they used? Had Chang witnessed any of this? Had he been involved? Is he still alive? In hiding, a prisoner of
some unknown enemy, or willingly conspiring to bring about another massacre?
However, since Chang Wufei is not present and able to
deliver an account of his actions, she taps out an internal extension on her vidphone.
“Digital Forensics, what can I do for you, ma’am?”
Une asks her questions regarding
the status of the Bedouin’s computer database. Progress is still slow. Whoever had jammed the system had been quite
adamant about making the information inaccessible. She tells the agent to keep working.
She disconnects the line and rubs her forehead.
Acting Director Une really, really
hates Mondays.
And the small but utterly distinctive sound of a NeoGlock’s safety being disengaged is simply the
exclamation point on the end of her anti-Monday credo.
She is startled, too startled to even think to twitch. Her thoughts swirl with confusion. All of the NeoGlocks
had been destroyed. As had all other conventional
bullet-armed weapons. It is conceivable
that even with the United Earth Sphere Disarmament, the Preventers had missed a
few. But it is not conceivable that
someone could have transported it into her private office completely
undetected.
She struggles against reaching for the gun she knows she no
longer wears. Une
does know that the intruder won’t shoot until he is sure he has her
complete attention. But she cannot not notice him indefinitely.
And she’s never been a coward.
It’s hard to face, but the knowledge is blatantly evident:
she won’t be able to think her way out of this one. And she probably won’t be able to talk her
way out, either. But it’s her best shot.
Still, what a way to go... and on a
Monday of all days.
Surely, this is atonement.
Acting Director Une says, “You’ve
got my attention.”
“I know.”
That voice...
Her head snaps up and she finds herself numbly absorbing
the leather-and-jean clad form of Duo Maxwell.
The NeoGlock held so easily in his grasp is a
secondary detail.
She hears herself admit disbelievingly, “I’ve just read
your death certificate...”
“I know that, too.”
It must be the arrogance in his voice that coaxes one of
her eyebrows into a skeptical arch.
“You’re well-informed.”
“From where I stand, there’s not much I can’t know.”
Her eyes narrow with speculation. “Then you should be able to answer a few
questions for me, Mr. Maxwell.”
“I could, but I won’t.”
She thinks she almost hears the click of the first bullet
chambering. But of course, it already
has been. Duo Maxwell would not have
waited until now to finish that little chore.
She waits. This is
Duo Maxwell’s show. He’ll fire when he’s
good and ready. But as the seconds roar
by, her awareness of the office becomes more acute. The window is still locked. The door still firmly shut.
The door...
There’d been no soft scrape of wood against carpet
preceding her visitor’s entrance. No
shift in air pressure.
But, how could that be possible?
In the swirling silence, she feels compelled to wonder
aloud: “How did you get into my office, Mr. Maxwell?”
And finally, he smiles.
It is, without a doubt, the coldest smile she has ever
seen.
And she knows: Duo Maxwell has broken.
He draws a slight breath.
He sights.
“Dreamwalker!”
At the sound of a new voice, Une
manages to find her lost reflexes, diving behind her massive desk and its
mountain of reports. In the same
instant, the gun discharges with an eardrum-bursting explosion. Papers erupt.
Plaster dust snows.
“Do not follow through with this!”
There is no reply.
There is only silence.
Une remains where she is and
waits for her assistant to collect some back-up before barging in. From beneath her desk, she sees no foreign
shoes crushing the bulk-ordered carpet.
She knows she is alone.
With a sigh, she sits up and leans against her desk. She closes her eyes. She figures she only has about ten seconds to
figure out how she’s going to explain this.
Duo Maxwell – a dead man – in her office
with an outlawed firearm.
And the second man...
A man whose voice she knows very, very well...
A man she could not have possibly heard.
A man who, as far as she knows, is even more
dead than Duo Maxwell.
“Come in.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“For what are you offering an apology,
“This morning. Une’s office. Maxwell.”
“Ah, succinctly put.
And why is it you feel compelled to apologize for the Dreamwalker’s rash actions?”
“I failed the assignment.
I’m sorry.”
“
“I was unable to destroy all of Zanoah’s
digital recorders. Nor have I been able
to decode the Bedouin’s encrypted files...”
“
“I will accept the consequences of my incompetence.”
“
“Is there?”
“Do not sound so doubtful of me, Walker. This day was destined to come.”
“What will we do?”
“You shall return to your post at the Preventers. Your position there may yet be
invaluable. And, of course, Une must be addressed; I will arrange for that.”
“And Maxwell?”
“I am handling that matter personally. Do not concern yourself with it.”
“I regret that I have not been of more assistance to you.”
“You have always provided a wealth of assistance to me,
Walker.”
“If you say it, then it must be true, sir.”
“It is true, my friend.
It is true.”
- Two -
I should have deleted that damned
assignment the moment I saw it.
A fierce, empty silence – a void – where a
young man’s thoughts would have echoed.
The rage... yes, Heero’s rage is very nice. Hot and satisfying. Mmm... And Trowa, his
despondency is so rich. Soul deep. Yes, yes,
give me a taste of your soul...
God damn it, Duo. Why did I let you feed me that bullshit about
you feeling fine? You were not
fine!
Nothingness.
And Wufei, so worried for them, for me. He loves me.
I can feel it and I like it. Give
me more, more, I’ll take it all, all, all...
Damn you to hell, Duo Maxwell! I need you here, you self-sacrificing moron!
Aching, icy numbness.
Wufei is mine, is mine, is mine. And soon Trowa... yes, soon... Then Heero
will fall... fall...
Wufei opens his eyes and lets out a long breath. He surveys the room he had chosen several
weeks ago for the purpose of mediation.
Despite the ability of its restful colors and unadorned walls to soothe
his mind, he has yet to actually manage a successful meditation in it. And this morning, once again the thoughts of
the others infringe on his quest to reach past his own awareness to the place
where Duo might sense him, might contact him.
In the past five weeks he has heard nothing from Duo. And far too much from the
others.
Heero’s enduring, self-directed rage.
Trowa’s echoingly empty withdrawal.
And Quatre...
Wufei sighs. He has
no doubt that Quatre cares for all of them.
He has no doubt that Quatre can control the vampirism. But it is a very, very fine line that the
young man treads. He cannot suppress the
hunger, deny it, or fight it. He must
allow it to view the others as prey. He
must allow it to take what it wants. It
is up to Quatre to make sure it takes only what has been freely offered or
carelessly cast off.
Wufei admits it is unnerving living with someone who could
consume your very soul should Quatre stumble along that vanishingly thin path
he has balanced himself upon. Although
Wufei is afraid for his own sake, he is even more fearful for Quatre’s. If the young man ever slips and takes what is
not his, Quatre’s own sense of failure and guilt will leave only two paths open
to him: he will either succumb completely to the vampire or take his own
life. If Wufei knows anything about
Quatre at all, it is that he would never be able to consciously live with the
knowledge that he had consumed a human soul...
“You’re worrying about me again.”
Wufei doesn’t turn around. He knows Quatre is leaning in the doorway, a
vision in khaki slacks, white T-shirt, and unbuttoned oxford dress shirt, with
his sunglass-tangled blond hair and pale, bare feet. Yes, this Quatre is exponentially sexier than
Wufei’s old comrade – quite capable of tempting a logical mind into the
forfeiture of one’s own soul – and Quatre is well aware of this. Truly a dangerous
combination.
Wufei replies, “With good reason,
Winner.”
“So you insist.”
Quatre pauses and Wufei can feel those lightning-blue eyes mapping his
kneeling form from behind. “You tried to
meditate again. Without
help.”
The empath’s displeasure vibrates
through the air and Wufei snaps, “Despite your delusions to the contrary,
meditation is not a team sport.”
“No,” Quatre drawls suggestively. “But I know another game we can play, just
the two of us, and I guarantee you’ll reach nirvana.”
Wufei snorts with a surprised bubble of laughter. “If you want to work off your excess energy,
maybe you should get back to your crocheting.”
Quatre chuckles. And then he steps into the room.
Wufei is instantly tense.
“Relax, I won’t...”
There exists such a wide range of actions of which Quatre
is capable, that he doesn’t bother to list them or offer up an example. However, that is not what concerns
Wufei. With every encounter, he feels
his objectivity slipping just a little more.
With Heero and Trowa lost to him in worlds of their own making and Duo
missing, he has nothing to anchor himself to except the very person who could
take him, own him, destroy him.
Quatre’s hands find his shoulders and move down to the
curve of his upper arms. “Relax. I’m going to help you find Duo.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment behind your offer to
augment my energies with your own, I do not think you should be here.”
“And I don’t think it’s safe for you to try to contact Duo
without some kind of backup. You’re
tired. And there’s no telling what state
Duo may be in.” Before Wufei can use his
next breath to articulate yet another argument, Quatre continues, “Rashid and
the others are busy elsewhere – at my request – not being implicated in helping
us disappear. Heero still wants to see
both of our heads mounted on pikes and Trowa can barely take care of
himself. Who else in this vast sea of humanity
would you rather help you?”
“You can’t get past the hunger,” Wufei reminds him.
“Yes, I can. I have
before, and I will now. We’re going to
do this together, just like we promised we would. It’s just you and me and we’re going to find
him. So close your eyes, Wufei, close
your eyes...”
Reluctantly, Wufei does.
As the darkness of his own body descends upon him he hears
it: the muffled percussion of a human heart.
He sees it: the fluid, endless dance of smoky fog.
And then it happens: the flash of light as his senses
ascend to the level of awareness which has summoned him.
Heero Yuy watches.
He leans against the wall directly opposite the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and endures. He watches arms settle around weary
shoulders. He hears the sigh of
exhaustion. He sees the interplay
between two people who know they are part of each other’s destiny.
He tightens his arms even further over his chest. His unseen hand fists against his
ribcage. The fingers
of the other gouge into his clothed bicep.
He watches and he tries not to remember.
But his arms ache.
Barely breathing in anticipation, eyes narrowed with
cynicism, he endures what will most likely be yet another of Wufei’s
ineffectual attempts at mediation.
And at length, it seems as if, maybe... this time... Chang
may have...
Wufei slumps forward on a long, defeated sigh. “I’m sorry, Quatre. I cannot.”
Even before the utterance has been said, Heero’s faint hope
is ruthlessly crushed. His snort is soft
and cynical.
In the mediation room, Quatre pauses briefly in the act of
pulling his exhausted friend to his unsteady feet. Wufei does not even have enough energy to
start. It is to him that Heero directs
his brutal words.
“You’re a fool, Chang.”
Once, Wufei might have glowered at the vitriol. Now he only wearily acknowledges, “Thank you
for that astute observation, Yuy. Your
presence here is clearly making all the difference.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this scene. I warned you about him.”
Wufei leans heavily against Quatre, closes his eyes briefly
in a likely attempt to gather his own strength.
Quatre answers Heero’s challenge. In a cold voice, he replies, “Yes, you did
warn him. Do you feel vindicated now?”
“You sonuvabitch... You think I wanted you to do this to
him?”
“You think I give a damn about what you want?” Quatre
snaps.
“No, I’m not the one who’s deluded himself.”
Temper snapping, Quatre turns the full force of his gaze
upon the figure leaning tense and angry in the hallway. “Why do you insist on poking the lion with
sticks, Yuy? Even you are not that
foolish. Even you know that eventually the
beast will turn and attack.”
And, in a flash of insight, Quatre persists, “Unless, of
course, that is what you want.” Quatre
does not have to elucidate precisely what would happen, should he finally lash
out. Heero is fully aware that he is
playing with an eternity of oblivion. He
knows and he does not care.
Perhaps sensing this, Quatre’s ire deflates. Saddened, disappointed, he says, “Is this the
cowardly way in which you would use me?
Is this the end Duo would have wanted for you?”
A long pause growls between them.
In a voice weighed and rusty with rage, Heero returns,
“Never say his name again, you parasite.
You are not worthy to even think of him.”
Quatre’s rage returns with full fury. “Neither are self-pitying trolls like
you! You cannot
change what has happened: neither your mistakes nor his! It. Has. Happened!
What are you going to do about it, Yuy?”
Heero glances meaningfully in Wufei’s direction. The young man looks asleep on his feet. And right after allowing Quatre to “assist”
him with his meditation. Heero thinks: Not
a coincidence. He says flatly, “I think you’ve
done enough for all of us, Winner.”
Quatre bares his teeth in a seething grin. Heero hears him inhale sharply with the
intent to speak.
“Sofa,” a third voice croaks.
Instantly, the empath’s rage
dissipates. “I apologize, Wufei.”
A soft grunt acknowledges Quatre’s words.
Heero says nothing.
He watches with narrowed eyes as Quatre guides Wufei from the room and
turns down the hall to negotiate the brief distance to the living room. Heero remains in the hall. From his vantage point, he can see Wufei
slump down among the once-soft cushions.
Quatre speaks to someone seated at the window. “You don’t mind if I turn down the radio, do
you Trowa?”
As expected, there is no reply. Trowa continues staring out the window.
Heero closes his eyes and quietly but soundly bangs his
head against the wall. God, he hates
this place. These
useless people. Supposedly, Duo
is out there, somewhere. Supposedly,
Quatre had helped Wufei save his life.
Supposedly, he will return when he has recovered from enduring the Owning. Supposedly, they are waiting for a sign.
Waiting.
Possibly waiting to learn that Duo is
dead. Possibly
waiting to learn that Quatre had betrayed them. Possibly waiting for the
vampire to consume their souls.
It all boils down to waiting.
And that stew is a bitter one, indeed.
Just as the radio volume warbles, indicating the touch of a
hand, a key phrase interrupts the vampire’s intention to quiet the faceless,
ever-present voice.
“...and this just in: an attack was made on Preventer Headquarters
this morning. At approximately
Heero lifts his head from the wall and regards the
satellite reception unit. He tries not
to think about the investigation at Preventer HQ. He tries not to assemble the list of
priorities, possible evidence, potential
vulnerabilities. That is not his job
anymore. His job now is... waiting.
“There is no bullet.”
Heero turns his gaze to the living room, somewhat startled
at the strange declaration.
Quatre frowns. “What
did you say, Wufei?”
On the sofa, Wufei frowns.
“I’m... not sure. What did you
hear me say?”
Heero can see from the unsettled look on Wufei’s face that
he had not even realized that the words had come from his own mouth.
There is no bullet.
The news announcer is still speculating on the attack on Une. Heero now joins
in with his own unanswered questions: And who would attack Une? Who would have motive? Who would have the capability? And could any of this possibly be related to
a seemingly failed meditation attempt?
There is no bullet.
A gunshot. An assassin. A target that is – quite
possibly – in the position to learn a great deal about some very unusual
circumstances and events.
Heero considers.
He evaluates.
He decides.
Voice too soft for the others to hear, he says, “You want
to know what I’m going to do, Quatre?”
Heero Yuy steps quietly away from the gathering in the living
room and retreats down the hall. “Now
it’s your turn to wait... and see.”
- Three -
“What do you mean you can’t find a bullet?” Acting
Director Une demands in a low, dangerous tone. “These files didn’t just break Olympic
high-jump records for the hell of it!”
The agent before her replies, unperturbed, “I did not say
there hadn’t been a gunshot, ma’am. We
have three witnesses who heard it as well as security recordings from the
office lobby. I can see the impact point
in the wall behind you where it entered.
However, we cannot locate the bullet itself. Unless you yourself have already confiscated
it, it simply isn’t here, ma’am.”
Four little words: it simply isn’t here.
Only four little words and yet it deepens the mystery by
fathoms.
The profound unknown surrounding her dismantles her
irritation, leaving her deflated and exhausted.
“I understand, agent,” she replies with a modicum of
professionalism.
Professionalism. It’s a word she is beginning to hate. Why had she accepted this thankless, passionless
position in the first place? To maintain the peace?
To protect the innocent? How can she accomplish this when this
morning’s events have clearly shown that she cannot address these seemingly
simple directives within the walls of her own office?
Perhaps it’s time to consider a career change. Zoo-keeping is looking more and more relaxing
all the time; teeth and claws don’t usually pass through walls and security
checkpoints.
As tempted as she is to draft her resignation letter, she
knows she won’t. She’s never walked away
from a mystery, a challenge, or a threat.
And now she faces all three.
Perhaps it’s time to pay a visit to the Preventer Digital
Forensics Division. There’s nothing like
a superior officer leaning over one’s shoulder to inspire results.
Nothing happens in Trowa’s world of ice. And that is how he prefers it.
Nothingness is a good place to be when what crouches in the
shadows of memory waits to consume you.
But nothingness is not safe. It is not infinite.
Deep within the territory of his mind, a jungle warfare
sparks and sizzles. The ambush is always
sudden and ruthless, melting back into the darkness just before he can combat
it.
“Duo? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Tro! Nice to see you, too, dude! I’m just fine; thanks for asking! The flight was great and I saved you some
peanuts!”
Nothingness. Nothingness is good. The cold helps. Here, by the window, he can almost feel the
chill of the snow directly on his skin.
Ice is good. Numb is good. Here he can pretend that he has no history,
that he exists only in each moment has it happens, that it is impossible for
him to have made mistakes in a past that never existed.
“Are you going to tell us what’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong, Tro. In fact, everything is perfect.”
Perfection: darkness, ignorance, peace. In the silence, he hears nothing. Remembers nothing. Knows nothing. He breathes.
Sometimes he wonders why he bothers to do even that. He does not need the air. He needs the numbness.
“I never thought I’d say this, but you guys were
right. We really are making this work.”
“You know us too well to doubt us, Duo.”
Doubt. He ignores it. Doubt leads to thought. Thought invites memories. Memories... are unbearable.
“Have I told you guys yet today that I couldn’t live withoutcha?”
Live. Life. Living. Is that
necessary? Is it desirable?
“I’ll take you both out for ice cream when we win this
one.”
“Never been in Little League
before...”
League. Team. Partners. He does not want to understand these
words. He does not want to remember
their meanings. He wants to know only
the nothingness. Only
the chill, the silence, the darkness.
He leans his forehead against the frozen window pane. He closes his eyes. He welcomes the cold. With every breath, he imagines the fire
dimming, dimming, dying into nothing.
Nothing.
“I’m going to find him, Trowa.”
A voice – a voice he knows – whispers to him in the
darkness.
“We’re going to be together again.”
Together...
“I need your help, Trowa.”
Together... Duo...
“I have a job for you, so listen...”
Listen... I’m listening... I’m listening for the sound of Duo’s
footsteps, for his laughter, for his voice.
Listening... For Duo, I’ll
listen. Listen.
“Trowa? Can I count on you?”
For a long moment, Trowa does not move, does not think, does not breathe.
He blinks and this time, his eyes focus. He sits up.
He turns toward the figure sharing the window seat with him and, in a
voice hoarse from disuse, says, “Yes, you can count on me.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Can I count on the fact that that won’t be the last time
you jerk my chain for your own selfish reasons?”
“You do not wish to know the reason for my falsehood?”
“I already know why people lie.”
“Yes, I can see that.
What you want to know is if I also have the propensity for giving you a
forthright reply.”
“And you just gave me my answer, buddy.”
“But you do have other questions, do you not?”
“I’ll keep my questions to myself, thanks. What I’d like to know is why you got in my
way.”
“Do not invent obstacles in your path.”
“Is that supposed to be advice?”
“It is my reason for lying to you.”
“That’s 100% crap-ola, man. If you had anticipated my reaction to learning
about Une’s investigation, and if you had intended to
stop me from killing her, then why did you discuss the threat she poses in
front of me?”
“Can you think of no reason for why I would do that?”
“I can think of several twisted leaps of logic, but nothing
that makes sense, no.”
“But you have already seen that it does. Your resistance to my will is indeed
formidable. You have read my motivations
quite clearly. And now I shall
anticipate your counter-move.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that, pal.”
“Ah, but, Dreamwalker, of the two
of us, I am not the one who needs it.”
- Four -
It’s amazing how much money Acting Director Une has authorized for the salaries of people whose sole
task is to tell her what green, blue, and red lines on obscure charts are meant
to represent.
Feeling more obtuse than she’d care to verbally admit, Une glares at the junior officer spouting as many
polysyllabic words as he can muster in order to “explain” the data on his
computer screen. All of which essentially
means that no further progress has been made.
“Agent,” Une
barks, interjecting into his continued, pseudo-elucidation. “You are not paid to think up clever ways to
phrase excuses. Your task is to decode
this data. Can you do that or shall I
transfer you to another section? Public
Relations is constantly submitting requests for more
agents to do elementary school assembly presentations.”
The threat does wonders.
“Ma’am! I’ll have something for you within
twenty-four hours.”
“See that you do, Agent Walker. See that you do.”
Wufei takes in the conspicuous black duffel bag in
the back seat of the SUV and the figure leaning towards the driver’s seat
through the vehicle’s open door and snaps, “Going somewhere, Yuy?”
Heero Yuy does not seem particularly surprised by this
interruption. He says, “What does it
look like to you, Chang?”
“We agreed that all of us would stay together until Duo
contacted one of us.”
“And he has.”
Wufei blinks. His
voice is cautious when he speaks: “You know where he is?”
“Not at the moment. That’s why you’re coming with me.”
“...now?”
“No,” Heero replies coolly.
“Two minutes from now, which would make it –” Heero consults his wrist watch. “–
“That sounds suspiciously like an order, Yuy.”
“It is. Get in the
car, Chang.”
Wufei scowls. “You
are not my mission commander,” he states flatly, and turns abruptly to exit the
garage...
And finds Heero Yuy standing directly in
his path.
Wufei does not betray his surprise with a start, but his
brain sort of hiccups as he tries to comprehend that Heero had been standing
behind him, on the other side of the SUV, not one second earlier.
“Get in the car,” Heero directs.
Wufei stares hard at this man before him. As much as he’d like to indulge in a show of
temper, he wisely resists the inclination.
“If you expect me to come with you, then I’m entitled to know exactly
what your plans are before I consent to take part.”
“A waste of time.”
“Then give me one good reason why I should go along with
this!” he hisses.
“Do you think Quatre can defend himself against a firestarter?” Heero wonders aloud.
Once again, Wufei’s brain performs the mental equivalent of
a stumble. The threat is there, hanging
between them and Wufei suddenly wants very, very badly to be on the other side
of the door behind Heero. “You dare to
threaten –”
“I dare to do what I must to get Duo back!” Heero’s shout echoes in the garage, rolling
around the exposed rafters and bouncing off of the concrete floor. “Trowa’s already in position and –” Heero taps the
small comm. piece nestled in his left ear.
“– waiting for my signal.”
Wufei fumes.
Heero continues, “Everything is starting to come together
for me, Wufei,” he says quietly. “And
this is my chance to find Duo. For this
goal, and only this goal, Trowa has pulled himself together. He’s going to look after Quatre for you while
you’re working with me on this. How he does that will depend entirely on you. He’s looking forward to seeing Duo again;
you’re not going to disappoint him, are you?”
Incensed, Wufei growls, “How can I make a decision, either
way, with nothing to base it on but a pie-in-the-sky objective and underhanded
threats?”
“The plan is for you not to make a decision. The plan is for you to sit your ass down
behind the steering wheel and drive until I tell you to stop.”
Wufei thinks about punching Heero Yuy in the jaw. He thinks about challenging the threat of
Trowa attacking Quatre. He thinks about
what Heero Yuy has become, what his abilities, in
total, might be. He thinks Heero will be
disinclined to answer Wufei’s questions about his extraordinary abilities. He thinks that – in hand-to-hand combat – he
is now no match for Heero Yuy, if he had ever been. He thinks the prudent thing at this juncture,
is to get in the car.
He says, “I highly doubt, after this stunt, that there is
anything you can say to win my sympathetic cooperation, Yuy.”
Sensing Wufei’s disgruntled compliance, Heero says, “Sympathy
is unnecessary. Your cooperation is all
I need, Chang. And I will get it. One way or another.”
Yes, Wufei can see that Heero isn’t interested in sympathy. The situation has degraded far beyond
that. He’s interested in results, and
for weeks, Wufei has not produced them.
That, in and of itself, is confusing to former Preventer Agent
Chang. Why had his meditation attempts
been so ineffective? What mechanism had
allowed Heero’s tolerance to unravel so dramatically?
Wufei doesn’t have answers for any of these questions. And no protests Heero will listen to.
Smarting in the wake of those apathetic directives, Wufei
strides over to the driver’s side of the car, climbs in, and slams the door
shut behind him.
“Quatre.”
Just the sound of his voice, softly spoken, wakes him. He turns toward the door and sees...
“Trowa?” For a moment, he’s almost painfully
disoriented. Seeing Trowa standing on
the threshold to his room, hearing him speak...
Surprise sparks adrenalin and rockets him the rest of the
way into wakefulness.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Quatre asks,
“What’s happened?” cutting directly to the source of Trowa’s unexpected
loquacity. Obviously, something
must have initiated Trowa’s sudden renewed participation in socializing. The man had been practically catatonic for
weeks.
But now, Trowa leans in the doorway, arms crossed over his
chest and watches Quatre pull on the nearest pair of pants. “Heero and Wufei left.”
“Left!?” Quatre’s eyes narrow. “Clarify that.”
Trowa obliges, “Heero and Wufei are not in the house. The SUV is gone.”
“Shit,” Quatre mutters, wrenching his belt through the
buckle. “Where did they go?”
Trowa lifts one shoulder in a shrug of ignorance.
“And why now?”
That, perhaps, is the most important question. Quatre reaches for his boots and tries to
remember the last time he saw Heero and Wufei.
Wufei he’d seen last night. He’d
combed the man’s hair out of his eyes just outside Wufei’s bedroom door. In this house of heartache, that has been the
most intimate gesture they’ve dared. He
glances at the clock.
He’d seen Heero yesterday morning. They’d argued in the hall just after Wufei’s
attempt at meditating. Then Quatre had
taken Wufei into the living room.
Presumably, Heero had returned to his room. But then there’d been the news announcement
of the attack on Une... and Wufei’s odd
statement. What if Heero hadn’t returned
to his room immediately following their encounter? What if he’d lingered in the hallway?
For the first time, Quatre really thinks about the words
Wufei had uttered.
There is no bullet.
Odd words. Presumably related to the
attack on Une.
If she’d been shot at, and there hadn’t been a bullet... But what does that mean?
“Trowa, help me out here,” Quatre says. “Wufei tried to contact Duo yesterday morning,
but couldn’t. Then there was that
announcement on the news about Une being attacked in
her office. Possibly in response
to this, Wufei says, ‘There is no bullet.’ Then Heero disappears into his room for
the rest of the day. Does any of that
fit together?”
Trowa is silent for a long moment. Then he leans away from the doorjamb and
says, “I’ll make some coffee.”
Quatre snorts and slouches forward on the edge of the
bed. He braces his elbows on his thighs,
draping his hands in the space between.
He looks down at his boots, which he’d automatically put on a laced
up. He hopes he’d remembered to put on
socks.
Alone now, he decides to consider the situation from
another angle. What kind of weapon could
be used in an attack on one person in a high security building? The answer to that being: not very damn
many. Something that
could be brought in without setting off alarms. A piece of rope or plastic to be used as a
garrote, maybe... But then why had Wufei
said that there hadn’t been a bullet? Of
course there hadn’t. No one makes or
uses bullets anymore. To get a hold of
one and bring it into the Preventer HQ administrative offices you’d have
to –
Quatre’s breath tangles suddenly
in his throat.
You’d have to make one inside the target zone.
But that would be impossible, unless...
“You were a dreamwalker...”
Quatre surges to his feet and practically runs into the
kitchen. He sees Trowa reaching for two
steel coffee cups and blurts, “Why would Duo try to kill Director Une?”
Trowa, seemingly unsurprised by this
abrupt question, replies, “Bedouin.
Zanoah.”
“Yes, those events would have been under Preventer
jurisdiction. But the Maguanacs jammed the Bedouin’s computers. And nothing conclusive can be proven from Zanoah’s security data recorders. Une most likely
thinks the three of you died in that explosion.
So, why would Duo target Une?”
Quatre decides against sitting in one of the chairs
scattered around the table and sits directly on the table itself, swinging his
feet up onto the seat of the chair.
Trowa hands him a cup of coffee and says, “To get our attention?”
“And hers as well, I’m sure.”
Trowa, his own steaming cup of instant
caffeine in hand, leans against the table beside him. “If Une likes having
all of her questions answered...”
Quatre sips thoughtfully.
“Then she might go digging around in something best left alone.”
Like the Bedouin’s database of doom. Which would expose – at the very least –
himself and Duo.
Quatre considers this new possibility, and determines that
Heero’s absence the day before must indicate time spent investigating not only
the attack on Une, but also her role in the Bedouin
and Zanoah investigations. He also realizes that last night, Wufei had not
been planning on accompanying Heero on this task. And something must have stopped him from
informing or inviting Quatre. For a
moment, he considers the issue to be a lack of trust or confidence in Quatre’s
abilities to control his vampirism. But
even then, Wufei would not have said nothing. He would have explained exactly why Quatre
had been ill-suited to accompany them.
Some other explanation is called for...
Trowa, quite possibly sensing Quatre’s increasing
determination, says indifferently, “Are we going hunting?”
Quatre looks up sharply at that last word.
Hunting...
Suddenly, he feels the beast stirring within him.