Everything was white and blurred.
When the boy with the ebony eyes woke up, he needed a few seconds to pierce
through the veil of confusion and understand what he was seeing. Yet, it wasn't
something especially hard to comprehend… A white ceiling, a white sheet
on him and a tube winding from his arm toward a plastic pocket full of a transparent
liquid. Black bars at the windows. And two people in khakis in a corner, peacefully
playing cards, with their guns laying near from them, ready to be used.
The black-haired boy tried to lift a hand to chase a lock from his face, but
he realized fast that it wasn't possible, for the simple and good reason that
his wrists were solidly tied down to the transversal bars along the bed's sides.
"But…" he breathed, perplexed, troubled and annoyed.
The murmur had been enough to make the guards grab for their weapons and put
him in their sights.
"One move and you're dead, kid," ordered one of them while the other
was catching his walkie-talkie.
"Captain? Yes, he is conscious. Yes, sir."
Making the cards disappear into his pocket, he spoke to his comrade, still staring
at the poor confused boy.
"General Kushrenada shouldn't be long. We should still stay careful, he
doesn't look like it but he's dangerous…"
"I know," sighed the other, rolling his eyes. "Do you think they
didn't lecture me too on the so called capabilities of these damn pilots? Phah,"
he spat, "he looks like it, look at him… I swear, I have a nephew
his age and the kid ain't able to find his ass with both hands and a map…"
Having difficulties just raising his head enough to see, the Chinese teenager
stared at them, not understanding a single part of their conversation. What
was happening? He remembered just in time not to move his leg. The atrocious
pain which had invaded him the last time he tried was still sending warning
tingles, from time to time, tickling the end of his nerves with phantom pain.
He waited for what seemed hours, his eyes shifting from one of his guardians
to the other, desperately trying to understand.
His leg wasn't the only thing that stung. His forehead gave off the impression
of being raw, his temple was bruised to the point that even the pressure of
his own hair hurt, his shoulder seemed to be prettily bruised too, and he felt
strained muscles nearly everywhere.
"Please…" asked the black-haired boy, trying to strengthen his
voice. "Where…"
But before he could ask anything, the door opened.
Treize Kushrenada entered the room. He stared at the Chinese boy and walked
nearer to the bed, stopping close.
"Awake finally? I waited for three days for you…"
"I know you…" the black-eyed boy blurted out when he recognized
the man. "I know you… You were there when…"
His face went tense when he remembered the pain, then he returned his attention
back to the man. Treize was looking at him, distant and pensive, nearly haughty.
He felt very small suddenly, and not precisely in a strong position. Young and
confused, and scared… even if he refused to admit it to himself.
"Could you untie me please?" asked the boy in a nearly humble voice.
"You do not remember me."
It was more of a simple observation than of a true question.
"Yes I do… A little… You were there when I… My leg…"
Wufei tried to explain. "I don't really know, it's blurred… But I
still remember that, a little."
"But not anything from before," noticed more than asked Treize, an
imperceptible sigh leaving his lips.
"We knew each other before?" asked Wufei, truly surprised.
Then his face went from expressing polite surprise to expressing total panic
when he realized that, in fact, before the pain, he didn't remember anything
at all.
* * * * * *
Quatre visited the small, nearly sordid flat and pushed his backpack into a
corner. Two bedrooms and four beds, plus the couch. A couch that for once would
stay empty; Wufei wasn't there to claim it in the name of his need for solitude.
He briefly closed his eyes, searching for the little spark in him representing
the pilot. But the place it had occupied was empty. Not even the scar a death
would have left in him. He wanted to see it as a consolation… Wufei wasn't
dead. He would have known, he was sure of that.
He cursed himself for not having taken the time and effort to train that special
gift he possessed. It could have been so useful… But his empathy wasn't
anything more than a fluctuant thing over which he didn't have any control,
nor even true understanding.
"Allah…"
Quatre sat, as if there was an immense weight on his shoulders, on the couch,
and closed his eyes, fingers interlaced in a prayer posture. He wanted to cry,
but refused to. He would cry for his comrade when he had his corpse in front
of him, and not before. They would find a way to pull through. They always pulled
through… They needed to pull through.
A small noise made him look up. Trowa was looking at him from the door. As soon
as Trowa saw Quatre move and register his presence, he came into the room.
"Is the perimeter secure?"
The boy nodded, one green eye glinting under his bangs.
Which meant: security check came back clear, no micro or any other spy things
anywhere in the flat. If not, he would have indicated it. Quatre had become
an expert in Trowa-interpretation.
"Where are the others?"
"Heero, verifying the garage. Duo, Deathscythe."
"Oh…" sighed the blond, letting his body rest against the back
of the chair tiredly, his eyes closed again.
He reopened his eyes wide when Trowa's large hand landed on his shoulder, hesitant.
"You said yourself he's still alive… and if he isn't suffering, it's
that he's more or less safe…"
"It is true, but … Trowa, I do not feel him at all…"
Barton briefly squeezed his shoulder before letting his hand fall. He could
wish it, but he wasn't really able to understand what Quatre felt, how it was
for him to live with that ability.
"Heero said he'd launch a deeper search later on," he said, opting
for another approach to cheer up the boy.
"Really?" asked Sandrock's pilot, surprised.
Only a short time before, if someone had asked Heero what he should do with
a comrade made prisoner, he would have answered with a quote right out of the
perfect little terrorist manual: eliminate him to be sure he kept silent. Because
freeing him would be taking too much of a risk for nothing if you didn't need
him and his capabilities specifically, plus he could have been warped by torture
or something, and letting them into enemy hands gave them too many occasions
to find out things about them… Even if the captive bore the interrogations,
or at least died before he could say anything useful to them. The littlest clue
could prove fatal.
Heero had changed so much in so little time… Quatre had never really understood
him, but at least he had been used to him… Now, he didn't know what to
expect anymore. It was confusing…
But he had to admit that he appreciated the new Heero much more than the old
one.
"Perhaps he is unconscious, or even in a coma…" suggested Trowa,
sitting beside Quatre on the couch. "Which would explain why you don't
feel a thing…"
Quatre was biting at his nails and fingertips, and his comrade caught his wrists
and kept them immobilized to prevent him from hurting himself.
"But I should at least perceive his presence… unless… Oh, no…."
"Unless what?" asked Trowa, worried by the size of the whites around
his friend's blue-green eyes.
"Unless he is in too deep a coma…You know…"
"Brain dead?" whispered Trowa, his eyes widening slightly.
Quatre could feel all color drain from his cheeks.
* * * * * * * * *
Treize Kushrenada opened the hospital room's door and stared for a long time
at the still shape on the bed. After a long contemplation, he silently closed
the door behind him and stepped closer to the bed, where long black hair spilled
on the pillow. The features of that young face were calm, placatory, without
particular expression; his regular breath made the shorter ebony locks dance
over his face, falling on his closed eyes. The wound on his forehead had closed
fast enough, but a dark scar was still there, and apparently was there to stay.
He had been there for six days already and had already lost a great deal of
that unnatural, deathly pallor that had been due to his blood loss.
The man hadn't taken more than two steps when the boy jerked awake and jumped
up into the only combat posture his leg let him take, ready to defend himself.
The General went unmoving, waiting for Wufei to recognize him.
Wufei slowly lowered his arms when he realized that his visitor was none other
than the man from his very first memory, the man the others called 'general',
and who had come everyday since his awakening to keep him entertained and chat
with him. He straightened up and gave him a nervous smile as an excuse for his
violent reaction.
"Excuse me…" he added, shrugging sheepishly. "You surprised
me…"
Treize stared pensively at him before answering. The boy he had in front of
him didn't stop surprising him… He seemed shy and calm, not at all like
the pilot he had fought, the proud and courageous solitary dragon… It was
to a point he wondered if they really were the same person.
"It's nothing to concern you about, I should have knocked… I should
have known it was stupid to hope not to wake you up."
From under his messy bangs, Wufei blinked confusedly at him, not understanding
the sentence's subtext.
"It's nothing," smiled Kushrenada.
'He looks like a kitten… The other, the one he was before, was more of
a tiger, fierce and untouchable. He grew up too fast…'
"Do you feel better?"
"Yes, thank you."
"You can come with me then. The doctor said that you had the right to go
outside for a short time if your fever had lowered."
"Really?" asked the Chinese teenager, a shy little smile slowly blossoming
on his face. "I feel good for the moment…"
They had noticed that his fever had a tendency to appear by night mostly, or
when he pushed himself too far emotionally speaking, searched too hard to remember;
but they hadn't found the cause. Even with all his wounds, the pilot didn't
present any sign of any infection or illness.
Well, if the boy said he was feeling well, he was responsible enough that Treize
trusted him… The man only gave him a warm smile and told him to put some
clothes on.
As he was waiting in front of the door for the young boy to finish, he laughed
little surprised laugh. Yes… The young boy. It had become impossible to
think of him as a pilot, even less as a terrorist. He was… Completely different.
Calm, Treize supposed he had been like that before, but shy, he would never
have guessed. Soft-spoken and gentle, even less so. He was supposed to be a
terrorist after all…
He was showing signs of a high intelligence and of great culture and his pride
hadn't disappeared, but… The boy with whom the General had spent the last
days was a scholar, not a warrior. He would certainly have laughed incredulously
if someone told him he had been used to fight and kill on a more than regular
basis.
"I am ready, Treize-dono…"
"Well. We're going to the gardens, does it suit you?"
"Yes… I thank you, Treize-dono," he added, bowing lightly.
"My pleasure, young man, I assure you. If you knew to which point all those
reunions and political complications are boring … What were you reading?"
he asked, referring to the book on the bedside table.
Wufei answered him as he was grabbing for his crutches, and he and Treize walked
away to the gardens, the general amiably discussing philosophy with the young
man who had been his greatest challenger.
* * * * * * * * *
Fuck it, he wasn't coming with anything! No one seemed to know a thing on the
disappearance or the capture of a Gundam pilot. As if Wufei had disappeared
into thin air. Leaving his laptop with an angry and frustrated sigh, Heero walked
once again in front of the window facing the road, and grabbed a fistful of
curtain, his eyes following a passing car.
He didn't like this place, too many people went by here. And he had become used
to the woods behind their old safehouse. But they couldn't go anywhere else…
Or they would have had to go their separate ways for a while, and that wasn't
even a possible suggestion. He had already lost one member of his pack, it would
be a cold day in Hell before anyone forced him to leave alone for a second,
the three he still had!!
He never stopped screaming at himself inwardly for Wufei's capture. He knew
that it wasn't really his fault, but still, he couldn't stop thinking up ways
he could have prevented it. If he had gone instead of one of them, he could
have tried preventing it… But they couldn't do anything, not even go back
there to search for clues. And the Wolf didn't make things easier. He was always
howling inside, furious and frustrated. If Heero had let him do what he wanted,
he would have gone into a killing spree against the bases he knew of, but he
knew that it wasn't the best way to help Wufei…
If he learned of his death… If he received proof that his comrade was dead,
he… Yes, he would let the Wolf do as he pleased. A vengeance; an appropriate
way of giving Wufei a last homage. But for the moment, he was still hoping and
couldn't just go rampaging.
And the fifth pilot's disappearance wasn't his only problem, gods no… Heero
was even more stressed out by his comrades' reactions.
He had tried to retreat again behind the Soldier's mask, but it didn't work
anymore. He couldn't make himself not care about them all. Only to do as if…
barely, and not that well anymore. It was as if the Wolf was gnawing at the
Soldier, slowly making him disappear.
Quatre was visibly suffering; he gave off the impression of having had a limb
amputated, and not yet having absorbed the shock of the loss. Sometimes the
lively boy just fell silent in the middle of a sentence, and his eyes became
distant and moist. Trowa had closed off deeper in his silence, as worried for
his missing comrade as he was for the blond boy that was his best friend. And
Duo… Duo was losing himself in his Gundam's repairs, working from dawn
to late into the night with a barely contained rage, nearly as wild as his own
Wolf, trying to exhaust himself so that sleep wouldn't escape him once he went
to lie down.
Once in passing in the corridor en route to the bathroom, Heero had heard him
praying in the room they were supposed to share… He hadn't even know that
Duo believed in anything. That same night he had had a nightmare, even worse
than any he had had when it had only been the two of them in various schools,
before they met with the others.
Yuy hadn't known what to do any more than before, and finally hadn't done anything,
gnawed by remorse.
Heero's dreams too were full of ebony-eyed cadavers. When he let himself sleep,
that is.
He could only get some shut-eye for short periods, two to three hours at most,
and was always entirely awakened with the slightest creaking of the old wood
in the house. He tried to force himself to sleep, but his worry didn't want
to let him. The Wolf was terrified with the idea that if he closed his eyes
too long and fell asleep too deeply, he would wake up to find the house empty.
Each time he woke up from a nap, that he had taken on the couch so as to stay
near his laptop while it conducted its searches, he couldn't even hope to fall
back asleep before having toured house and verified conscientiously that his
friends were all here and well and that no one had entered the perimeter. It
was becoming taxing.
Nearly a week already… Six days that he didn't sleep more than three hours
per day, and he forced himself to tell and repeat until he admitted it that
if they found Wufei… no, WHEN they found Wufei, he would have to be in
top form to help him. And that meant sleep. A whole night of sleep. But he couldn't
as long as he was griped by the irrational fear that someone would come after
his other comrades…
He did another perimeter check, by habit.
* * *
Heero's left eyebrow shot up when he saw Trowa leaning against the door to his
room. The European gave him a very expressive glance in return. 'You're still
not sleeping?' It was five in the morning.
Heero answered with a shrug that was as expressive as the rest of their silent
conversation. 'can't'.
Trowa looked at him then lowered his eyes to look at the floor, pensive, then
looked up again, decision taken.
"I'll stay awake. I'll take care of Quatre. Go to bed."
Yuy took his measure with one glance, then nodded. The Wolf trusted Trowa to
accomplish this task. If he was taking care of that for him, he could sleep.
He directed his steps toward the door of the room he was supposed to share with
Duo and where he hadn't even put one foot yet, always working in the living
room and napping on the couch in between searches. He couldn't wait to sleep
at last…
…but wouldn't Duo be in danger even only a few meters away from him?
…It was too far. If the American slid out of the room to go… he didn't
know, to the kitchen, or to the hangar to work on his Gundam, or something like
that, and something happened to him once outside, out of reach from his senses?
How to prevent Duo from sneaking out of his surveillance zone?
The Wolf had a very simple solution; to which the tired Boy wasn't adverse.
* * *
Duo was asleep when the door opened in silence. His sharp instinct warned him
at once of the change in the air movements, even if there hadn't been a sound
to break the silence. In not even one second, he had gone from deep sleep, sprawled
on his bed like a run aground medusa, to combat position, his gun drawn on the
black and unmoving silhouette in the door.
"It's me," whispered the silhouette, closing the door behind itself.
"Heero?" DeathScythe's pilot asked with incredulity. The boy was still
more than half asleep and was only functioning thanks to his training.
Duo slowly lowered his gun and stared at the nearly indiscernible presence of
his comrade. He sat on the edge of the mattress and scratched his skull with
the gun's barrel.
"But what are you do…"
"Shut up," grunted Heero, walking up to him.
Duo froze. He had to still be half asleep, because he couldn't catch in the
least what the Were wanted with him. When Heero carefully took his gun out of
his hand to put it beside the bed, he didn't even react. Not even when he put
a hand on his shoulder and pushed. He didn't understand his intention…
He was already on his back on the bed when he thought about vocalizing his surprise…
But he couldn't even make the words leave his mouth. Heero had just, with a
simplicity that left him speechless, laid down at his side. He slid an arm around
the braided pilot's shoulders and drew him against his body. Putting his head
on his own bent elbow, he guided Duo's face into the hollow of his shoulder.
"He-Hee--ro?" stammered the braided pilot.
"Sleep."
The dry answer wasn't as harsh as it should have been… as it was usually…
There was a note of… not condescending amusement… no… comprehension…?
Duo didn't dare to say tenderness.
Maxwell, contrary to his habit, preferred silence. He didn't know what was going
on in his friend's head, but whatever it was he didn't want to risk seeing him
change his mind. It was nice… And if it was a dream he wanted to take advantage
of it at the fullest.
Duo fell asleep again with his arms shyly closing around Heero's shoulders,
as if he was afraid he would evaporate in the morning.
* * * * * *
"Duo, it's time. Wake up."
"Hnn, 'five m'nutes more…"
The warm presence at his side disappeared suddenly and the American shivered.
Two hands with rough palms landed on his shoulders to shake him gently.
"No, wake up. Duo, wake up…"
"Mmmm… Naah, Heero, dun leave, 'm cold…"
The significance of his words woke him up with a start. Heero?! Heero, in his
bed?! But.. it hadn't been a fucked up dream then? He sat up in a leap, his
heart beating hard with surprise, unbelieving.
Heero was staring at him, visibly puzzled by his reaction.
"Oh, err… Well… Err… Hi, Heero…"
"Baka…" muttered the Japanese boy, shaking his head, visibly
shocked by his behavior. "Come on, it's time for breakfast."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
He followed in silence to the corridor, then his tongue evaded his brain's control,
pushed by the thousands of questions bubbling under his skull.
"Heero… Why? I mean, not that it bothers me, but… Why did you…?"
The boy glanced at him, and lowered his eyes, hiding behind his bangs.
"Don't know…"
"Liar."
Heero sighed.
"I didn't want you to sleep alone… I cannot protect your sleep if
I am not near enough, and the area isn't that secure… The Wolf was worried,"
he added vaguely.
He had discovered that the Wolf was a very good excuse for every strange thing
he did. It permitted him to explain his reactions without admitting that they
came from him. He still had trouble admitting that they really were one and
the same being. It was easier to talk about it as if it was another persona
entirely.
"He's worried for me?" asked Duo with a surprised smile, choosing
to be happy with that proof of friendship, rather than hurt that the interest
hadn't been of another nature, as he could have believed.
"For you and for the others," rectified Heero, frowning. "He…
I… Wolves are gregarious, Duo. They're not made to live in solitude. Think
about that."
"Oh…" breathed the American, understanding suddenly the extent
of the recent happenings' impact on his usually stoic comrade.
"You are… You are my pack from now on," continued Heero, his
cheeks warm, struggling to make the words come out. "I don't want to lose
you too… I couldn't stand it. I already lost one… one of mine, and
I…"
"Heero…?"
Duo turned to face him and stared, stupefied. Heero cared about them!! He had
said so!!
The Japanese pilot got flustered at his astonished look and went to leave for
the kitchen, but Duo held him back by grabbing the lower part of his tanktop.
"Nani?" the brown-haired boy blurted out, taken by surprise.
He took a raspy breath when he felt a torso press against his back and arms
wind around his waist, and his mouth half-opened under the shock; as if he was
going to speak, except that he couldn't for the life of him find his words.
"We are not going to let you down, Heero…" Duo whispered in his
ear, with a soft, reassuring voice, as if he knew exactly how to speak to him
to calm him down. "We are all friends, right? You are not going to lose
any of us. Not me, nor Trowa, nor Quatre… Nor Wufei. Ok?"
"Ok…" he answered softly.
Feeling bothered, he didn't quite know why, he disengaged from his comrade's
arms and began to walk again. An immense smile on his lips, Duo followed.
His steps had found again that particular bounce that had disappeared with the
fifth pilot. He was already wondering which practical jokes he could invent
to reestablish a little bit of normalcy in the atmosphere.