|
"Fractured"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Mystery, Weirdness, Psychological, thrills
and chills, Dark, Horror Pairings: Duo Maxwell, Quatre Raberba Winner,
Trowa Barton, Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei, Treize Khushrenada, Lady Une Summary: Treize visits Pilot Zero Four in the
brig and experiences something strange. " Fractured" Chapter 2: Madness The brig was insufferably hot, damp, and devoid of fresh air. The vents in the walls hissed, pushing in stagnant, recycled oxygen mixed with thirty percent carbon dioxide. Not enough to kill the prisoners, but enough to make them woozy, lightheaded, and prone to dropping their guard. Treize expected to find a slumped over child, bleeding, and broken. Sobbing and lamenting the fact that he’d gotten in over his head and just wanted to go home. The intel he’d received on this prisoner had every indication that the boy was a spoiled whelp who’d just wanted an adventure, but when things inevitably got bloody and brutal, he would realize that getting his hands dirty was not for the posh and pampered. To his surprise, he was met with the opposite once he entered the brig. In the center of the room, a young blond man was suspended by a thick pair of steel cuffs clamped around his wrists, high enough to keep him on his tip toes at all times. The boy had been deliberately positioned just beneath a leak in the ceiling and his hair was plastered to his head as the steady drip drip drip of condensed condensation rained down on him. It must be maddening, Treize thought, which was the whole point. A subtle interrogation tactic designed to keep the prisoner uncomfortable and unnerved by the constant percussion of water on the top of his head. Though at the moment, the boy’s head was bowed down and the leaking torrent cascaded over the back of his neck, spilling onto his narrow shoulders. His clothing was soaked and glued to his slender body. A tiny thing he was, but in Treize’s experience with Gundam pilots so far, he knew looks could be deceiving. There was no noise, no whimpers, cries, or pleas. Just silence and Treize wondered if the kid was asleep. He cleared his throat, loudly enough to be heard over the dripping water and ventilation system and sure enough, the boy shifted, rattling the chains, and lifted his head. He squinted at Treize, blinking under the spotlight that had been aimed towards his face, trying to see who had come into the brig. Treize remained in the shadows, beyond the boy’s sight. From here, he could see his men had done quite a number on him. There was a large gash beginning just above his left brow and ran down his temple, disappearing beneath his hairline right above his ear. One eye was swollen and bruised and his bottom lip was split down the middle. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” The boy’s voice was croaky and flat with disuse, but Treize had the sense that it was normally a light, airy, beautiful voice. The kind that made his loved ones smile whenever they heard it. To his irritation, it held no tremor, no fear. No sign that he was distressed in any way despite the damning evidence of his torn clothing. The shirt, he surmised was a faint pink when dry, but was now a darker rose. It was torn open in the front, exposing a pale shoulder. The belt holding his khaki slacks was unbuckled and his fly unzipped. The trousers hung low on his hips, revealing the waistband of a pair of white briefs. Treize was mildly unnerved that the boy had known who he was without being able to see him. Either that, or he was bluffing and it was only by a stroke of luck that he’d guessed correctly. “I find it curious that you’d personally come to see me,” the kid continued. “Do you typically pay the prisoners a visit, or am I just special?” Treize curled his lip. How dare this child speak to him as if he was an authority. As if he had any power, or control in this situation. Christ, the brat’s head just barely reached the height of his nipple. Treize’s hands twitched, itching to wrap themselves around the scrawny neck and twist until the little bastard’s last breath gurgled from his throat. He clasped them behind his back instead. “Don’t flatter yourself, boy,” he sneered. He stepped around the prone body, hoping the slow click of his boots on the steel grates did something to rattle the kid’s calm exterior. “I am only concerned for the well-being of my guests.” The boy threw his head back and cackled which quickly turned into a fit of hysterical coughing. Treize winced as he heard the hollow, almost barking sound and patiently waited for the spasms to subside. “Are you ill?” The boy’s head turned and he could see the contempt on his face. He really was a pretty little thing. Not someone you’d expect to be a soldier, much less a revered Gundam pilot. “Wouldn’t you be after standing under dripping water for seventy two hours?” Treize was taken aback by the venom in his voice. He lifted his chin and tried to reassure him, though comforting people was not a strength of his. “I will see to it that you are looked after by our medic.” He felt almost bad for the brat until he remembered that three of his men were currently out of commission in the infirmary. “But do not act as though you didn’t have this coming. I’ve one man with a broken jaw. Another one with two broken bones in his arm, and another with a concussion.” “Perhaps they shouldn’t have tried to rape me,” the boy spat. Treize’s mouth curled up in amusement. “Forgive me.” He observed him closely, quite impressed with how tough he was despite appearances. “I must admit, you surprise me. You look like you would blow away during a moderate wind storm and yet you took out three of my men with little effort.” “Have you seen my face? I wouldn’t exactly call it “little effort”.” “Be that as it may, your injuries are rather mild in comparison. You’re quite a spitfire, aren’t you…Master Winner, is it?” The boy stiffened and that minute gesture was more than enough to convince Treize that this was a touchy subject for him. “Not exactly,” the boy admitted. “I’ve been…disowned.” “But, you are a Winner, are you not? Blood does not change even when family ties do.” He stepped around to the other side so he could see the kid’s face. “Or, should I call you by your real name? Quatre Raberba Alfayed.” The boy’s head jerked away from him. “We no longer go by that name,” he said, his voice hushed with a trace of long-suppressed pain. “Of course you don’t,” Treize mused. “Arabs were not very welcome during the early days of colonial development, were they? As brilliant as your grandfather was, he knew he would never get anywhere with a name like Alfayed. As a matter of fact, they still aren’t. Even your father was the target of racist attacks, was he not?” The boy took a deep breath through his nose, pressing his lips together in an effort not to take the bait. “It’s nothing new.” “But it was enough to make your grandfather change the family name to something more…Western.” He took a step closer, feeling the mist as the dripping water bounced off the boy’s body. “I’ve read your file in great detail, Quatre.” He watched the kid flinch from the use of his given name. “I must say, you are quite gifted. Your intelligence is off the charts. Likely rivals that of Pilot Zero One if not surpasses it.” The kid’s mouth twisted in derision. “And?” “And I’m curious as to what made you disobey your father and join the war efforts.” “My personal life is none of your business.” Treize shrugged, unperturbed. “Fair enough.” “What do you want from me?” “Ah, that’s quite a loaded question now, isn’t it?” He spun on his heel and took a few steps away, turning his back on the lad. “I want to know what makes you pilots so resourceful. So resilient. By all rights, you should be wasting away in some prep school, or killing brain cells with those video games you kids are so fond of. I want to know what makes you tick. What drives you. Motivates you.” He glanced at the boy over his shoulder. “The five of you seem to possess nine lives. I want to know why you are so hard to kill.” This time, it was the kid’s turn to shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Don’t play dumb with me, boy.” To his shock and quickly developing frustration, the brat’s mouth curled up at the corners. There was a gleam of something resembling superiority in those crystalline eyes that put Treize on edge. So much so that he began to feel dizzy. Or was it from that? He stumbled back on suddenly shaky legs, nearly toppling over onto his ass. He gaped up at the kid who was still grinning at him as if he had the upper hand. He lifted his hand to his face as he felt a trickle of heat and swiped the pad of his finger beneath his nose, jaw dropping when he saw the smear of blood. The coppery fluid seemed to drain into the back of his throat as well, causing him to gag. “What…what have you done to me?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the little shit quipped, his voice laced with guileless innocence. Treize pointed a shaky finger at him as he scurried backwards on his haunches. “You’ve - you’ve done something…but how?” “I suppose there was something still missing from my file,” the boy purred. “Something you didn’t know about. And how could you? It was something my father took the greatest pains to erase.” Treize’s head shook, unsure what that meant and suddenly terrified by the thunderous pounding of his heart. He clutched a hand over his chest as he turned onto all fours and crawled to the door. He banged on the steel with a fist and a frantic shout, suddenly convinced he was about to die. “Open up! Let me out!” He tumbled forward as the door slid open, weakened, and allowed his soldiers to pull him to safety. As soon as the door closed, his head began to clear again and the heavy thump of his pulse subsided. He angrily swiped the handkerchief that was offered and held it beneath his nose, waving the fussing men away with an irritable hand. “I’m fine. I said I’m fine! Enough!” He remained on the floor, wiping the blood from his nose until he felt strong enough to stand. He scrambled over to the console and flicked the switch for the camera feed. His eyes bugged out as he stared into the now empty brig. The cuffs where the boy had been restrained dangled in the air. There was no sign of him. Not a trace. “Wh - where’d he go? Where is he?” “Where’s who, Sir?” “The - that kid! The Gundam pilot. Zero Four. Where is he? He was just there a second ago.” “Gundam pilot, Sir?” He turned on the lowly foot soldier who gulped at his commander’s rabid expression. “There was a Gundam pilot in there not a moment before. He was a prisoner, remember? He nearly killed me. Where. Is. He?” The guard shook his head, not sure what to do. He raised his hands in a show of surrender and Treize couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he looked so confused. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but…what’s a Gundam pilot?” His eyes narrowed dangerously and he grabbed a handful of the guard’s pristine uniform. “Are you fucking with me, soldier?” “N - no, Sir! I would like to answer your question, but…” “Sir, with all due respect, we’ve never heard of a Gundam pilot. There was no one in that room. We don’t have any prisoners at the moment. Are you…are you sure you’re alright, Sir? Perhaps you should -” Treize swiped a hand at him and turned away. “Never mind. You’re both on desk duty until I get this sorted out. If I find out you’re playing games with me…” “Sir, we would never. I wish we knew what -” “Just forget it.” He shuffled away, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to gather what dignity he had left around himself like a cloak. He strode towards Colonial Une’s quarters, hoping she could make some sense of this. Strangely, by the time he reached her quarters, he couldn’t remember what the hell had brought him here. Une’s expression was one of deep concern, but also an odd sort of resignation. She invited him in, insisting he lay down on her bed to rest. He pressed the cool cloth she handed him onto his forehead, wracking his brain for the memory of why he was there. “I know there was…there was a reason I came here, but…” He glanced up at her, desperation in his eyes. “Am I going crazy?” “Of course not, my liege,” she murmured, though her face said otherwise. He resented the pity, but found he was far too exhausted to dwell on it. “Just rest, my liege. Perhaps once you’ve had a good night’s sleep, you’ll remember why you came here.” As his eyes drifted closed, he had the sneaking suspicion she was lying to him and wondered if he would remember. Some inkling in the back of his mind told him he wouldn’t. During his final fleeting moments of consciousness, there were vague flashes of blue green eyes, drenched flaxen hair, and a smile that chilled him to the bone before it was lost in a wash of darkness. After fighting it with the last of his strength, he finally lost the battle and succumbed to the pull of sleep.
End. Notes: So what happened? Was Quatre real, or just a figment of his imagination? Perhaps the Gundam pilots were never real in the first place and were only concocted in the mind of a madman. Was this an AU Treize who came from a place where Gundam pilots didn’t exist? Did their two separate worlds briefly collide? Or was Quatre someone, or something far more powerful than he realized? You decide! ~.^
~ * ~ |
