By: Nakia Raberba Winner
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Trowa?" mumbled Quatre into the
communicator that connected the two pilots. His brow furrowed in concern for
his friend, though Trowa couldn't see it. Something in the air was restless,
it felt as though this mission wasn't going to end properly. His chest ached
in sympathy with the atmosphere, and once again he voiced his concerns to the
pilot on the other end of the line. "Something isn't right. We should
abort."
"I don't abort, Quatre."
The rejection delivered in Trowa's customary dead- pan stung the Arabian,
but he kept silent, save for an small sigh of defeat. I should have known
Trowa wouldn't listen. He's a stubborn as I am. I suppose I should just
trust that he'll keep up his end of the mission, and I'll keep up mine.
"Quatre?" Duo's voice crackled over the static and snapped the blonde
back into reality.
"Nevermind him, he and Heero are both work- a- holics,
don't worry about it. They're to perfect to mess anything up." The last
part came out resentful and angry, and Quatre's uchuu no kokoro wavered. "I
swear, if they died, no one would know!"
"Shush, Duo," Quatre replied, keeping his sadness under wraps. "We have
to concentrate on the mission."
"I'm going in." Trowa interrupted the conversation, and then went silent
once more.
"Eh, just like him. That was so cliché."
Quatre giggled behind his hand, then shushed the exuberant American once
more.
~~~~
Quieter than the air he breathed in, Trowa Barton swept through the stale
corridors of the Old Chicago base in North America. He made his way steadily
towards the hangar, where several new prototype Gemini suits were waiting.
At his signal, Quatre and Duo would blow the barracks that housed the
soldiers, and Quatre would come to help him download the blueprints for the
Geminis, before both of them annihilated the suits and anyone else still in
the hangar. It was so simple. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Quatre's
fussing again. The brunet pilot told himself as he peered around a dark
corner and into the hangar bay. Nothing can go wrong. My Little One worries
too much. A dark chuckle escaped him, and a rueful look crossed his usually
stoic face. Ah, but I forget. He's not mine.
Shaking the thoughts out of his head, tapped the intercom system and
whispered that he was ready for the two to blow the other end of the base.
There was no answer, just a louder burst of static. Damn it! He cursed,
pulling several small detonation devices from his pocket and began running at
light speed towards the barracks.
He had only a bit to go, when suddenly, a huge explosion rocked the
building and thundered in his ears. He was sent flying backwards, pummeled
with debris as he skidded to a halt on the floor . Blinking disorientedly,
he stumbled to his feet and tore back in the other direction, screeching to a
halt and pulling the laptop out of his sack.
"Trowa!" Quatre appeared at a dead sprint, making his way towards his
fellow pilot to assist him in getting the blue prints.
It didn't take long for the computer to download the information, and
Trowa stood after Quatre, telling him to get moving, he'd do the rest.
"But, Trowa," Quatre protested. "That's not the mission!"
"get out of here, Quatre," Trowa said, raising a menacing fist. He knew
Quatre was strong, and surprise laced through him, when Quatre shied away
from him, fear glancing briefly through his eyes.
Without another word, the blonde Arabian turned and fled.
~~(*)~~
"Done," the Latin pilot whispered to himself, and with a final heck he
turned and left eh building, switching on the detonation devices as he went.
All in all, it didn't take long to get outside to where Deathscythe held off
several units of mobile suits, but the tricky part was getting through the
enormous battle to where HeavyArms sat, motionless.
With graceful motions that testified to his long practice hours at the
circus, the swept fluidly through the giant feet and re-bouncing laser beams,
dashing the last several yards and leaping into the cockpit. With one
switch, he started the verniae engines.
Bullets prayed several suits, and the rest of the units were suddenly
aware of one more Gundam to deal with.
"I'm setting of the detonations," Trowa told the rest of them. "Quatre,
Duo, get out of here, I'll be your back-up."
The American did as he was told and turned to flee as fire raged through
the sky and once again, ear-pounding roars swept over the area.
"Quatre, go!" Sandrock still hadn't moved, and didn't at the command.
Pilot 03 opened the line connecting the Gundams, asking for a visual. That
could have been the problem: the little blonde pilot wasn't in his Gundam.
"Quatre!"
Rage burned in his throat as Trowa turned to fire on the remaining 5
suits, which were quickly dispensed, though the last one maneuvered better
than the others had and took a bit longer to destroy.
The static in his ear suddenly burst open, and Duo's fuzzy voice came
through, shaking as though he were holding back tears. Oh, no, Trowa's heart
clenched and leapt into his throat. Quatre.
~~(*)~~
"Quatre!" Trowa gasped as he saw his two friends on the ground the
stinging black smoke. They were both so still their fellow pilot feared they
had died. But Duo looked up at him, biting his lip, and clutching the messy
body in his arms even tighter. Pilot 04 still breathed, but his body was so
cut and scraped, not to mention likely internal injuries, that it didn't seem
it would be long before no more of the life-giving air would rush through his
torn lungs.
"Q- Quatre." Trowa choked on the name. Duo handed him over, easily as
ever, holding back tears for his friend, and feeling supremely guilty that he
was thinking he was glad it wasn't Heero. His chest ached in sympathy for
his grieving friend, and he turned and disappeared into the thick fog that
made it almost seem as night, and blocked out the warm rays of sunshine
Quatre so would have liked to see. "Wake up, wake up, please, Quatre, you
cant die on me!"
"Trowa?" A bright smile lit the blonde boy's face as he slowly
recognized who was holding him. "I didn't...think you'd....stay...I waited
for you..."
Horror slowly rose in the Latin pilot's chest, as he surveyed the blood
quickly filtering from 04's body, and realizing it was his fault. He bit his
lip to hold back the hot sting of tears that he hadn't felt in so long. A
knot rose in his throat, and he opened his mouth to say something, to tell
Quatre he loved him...but all that came out was a dry croak that probable
sounded more like a laugh. Oh God, if you're there...help me...he doesn't
deserve this! Oh, no, oh God, please, no, I don't want him to go I was so
lonely please don't make me be alone again, he's my sunshine I want to die if
he dies I want to die with him though I will where's Duo we have to get him
out of here, oh no, no, no...
"Quatre...Quatre!" The Arabian pilot was unconscious, his head back to
expose his lily-white throat. With a gentle heave, Trowa stood, taking the
other pilot and carrying him through the gunfire towards the shelter of the
woods on the other side of the base. The trees offered safety, and it was
only 70 meters...60...40...30...5...
Quatre tumbled from his arms as pilot 03 fell with a cry. Blood ran from
his stinging, throbbing shoulder, and he gaped at the wound
uncomprehendingly. He sat dumbly for a few moments, and then his heart tore
in his chest again as he saw Quatre making a horribly weak effort to stand
and walk to his injured friend. "No!"
Red lines swam in Trowa's vision as he stumbled up and towards the little
angel crying softly and trembling in his efforts. The smoke was getting
denser by the moment, and a scream leapt into his constricted throat as, for
a moment, he lost sight of the little Arabian. Then, with a great heave of
will and two or three trips, they were together again, and the brunet pilot
was hauling a panting, gasping Quatre into the trees.
Almost at once the heaviness of fire stopped, not completely, but Trowa's
ears wrung and he couldn't hear anything but a pressing, urgent silence that
told him to hurry hurry, hurry. No birds sang, no leaves rustled, and no
breeze stirred the deadening branches of the trees. Just the bang bang bang
of his heart and the tiny hammering of Quatre's, so frail and shaking that
the taller young man feared he'd already gone.
The strength seeped out of his body and he collapsed into a stream, cold
overwhelming his legs.
"I'm scared, Trowa," came the whisper, and the brunet boy once more tried
to speak, but found that as soon as he wanted to, he couldn't say anything at
all.
"Me too," it came out hoarse and croaked, and his arms tightened even
further around Quatre.
Bang, bang.
Then, almost as if Trowa's heart were keeping his going's Quatre's life
force pumped, then receded, leaving only the shadow of the unison of life
that had been there for so very little precious time. For one single second,
maybe two, they had been one heart in two bodies, as it should have been
before.
The tears were hot in Trowa's eyes, and soon his cheeks were warmed by
their silent tracks of agony.
"Quatre, please..."
"You know, I loved you, Trowa. Trowa."
He said his name again. Steadily, raising brilliant blue eyes, still
shining with a life force of pure crystal, to the green- eyed pilot's face.
"Quatre....I..."
"Always and forever. Till death do we..." A sigh slowly escaped tender
pink lips, and Quatre's eyes fell closed, delving his angel soul into pure
darkness forever.
Silence. No scream./ No sobs. Just silence.
Damn it to hell. Damn it! DAMN IT! DAMN YOU! I HATE YOU! STOP IT
PLEASE STOP IT I DON'T WANT HIM TO GO NO!
His heart screamed what his mouth could not, and the last thing that
echoed in his ears was the singular rhythm his heart beat. Alone. Again.
Forever.
Shadows crackled with lighting. Then everything faded.
A/N: I would be most appreciative of commentary, s'il vous plait. You can
e-mail me at PilotNakia08@AOL.com! Much loves (and virtual pocky) to those
of you who do!
