"Hallowed"

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: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, AU

Pairings: 3x4, 5x4, 5xD, 2xH, 6x9

Summary: In a dystopian world where Dekim Barton declared victory after the Eve War, Wufei is forced to infiltrate the dictator's regime in an attempt to take it down from the inside. As he begins to unravel the secrets of the New World Order, he uncovers horrors that should only exist in nightmares, and can only come from the twisted mind of a madman.

" Hallowed"

Chapter 2: Isolation

If we weren't idiots, we wouldn't be soldiers. ~ Duo Maxwell, AC 195

The miniature greenhouse that stood about a hundred feet behind Wufei's cabin was sufficiently warmed by the mid-morning sunlight despite the sudden drop in temperatures that occurred overnight. The humidifiers also helped to increase the warmth within the tiny Plexiglass shed, enough to make it feel as though he'd stepped into a rain forest the moment he entered.

Holy Cross had received a dusting of snow while the little town slept, but it was nothing to write home about. Wufei had certainly seen worse since he'd been living here. The emerging stalks of crocus and daffodils which grew around the southeastern perimeter of his cabin seemed unconcerned by the addition of white stuff on the ground. Their delicate leaves were just beginning to unfold under the sun's watchful gaze.

He tapped the toes of his boots on the raised edge of the greenhouse's doorway to remove the snow and stepped inside, his vintage Grundig radio tucked under his arm. It was just old enough to not contain any computer chips, or trackers unlike the electronic devices created today.

He'd found it in town, at a little shop called the Treasure Trove. While he was skeptical at first, Wufei discovered that the tiny mom and pop store was a literal goldmine, specializing in antiques, vintage toys and novelties, and discontinued, hard-to-find parts for a vast number of different items. And if they did not carry something in stock, the owners would do their best to locate what you needed and have it shipped in with the next load of incoming supplies.

Wufei had gotten his little Grundig there as well as a more modern wind-up radio which he scavenged for the crank and solar panel. He used them as a power source for the Grundig so he wouldn't have to rely on electricity, or batteries. Nowadays, less was more and the simpler was always the better.

He had Heero to thank, Nataku rest his soul, for his knowledge of machinery and his honed ability to soup up just about anything to suit his needs.

He returned to the Treasure Trove time and again for many of the things he used on a day-to-day basis and had developed an easy friendship with the owners. They were an elderly couple, descended from Eskimos, who'd lost their only son during the first war. They also had a daughter who lived with them and helped them man the store. He was dismayed that he didn't see them around as much as he had when he'd first started frequenting the place, but they were both well into their eighties and predictably, their health was beginning to decline.

He set the radio down onto his workbench and pulled the cords to lift the insulation panels that kept the inside of the greenhouse warm during the night. He flipped the radio on and adjusted the dial and antennae, sifting through the static to find the clearest signal. It wasn't easy to find stations up here, especially analog ones, but it was the safest way of connecting to the outside world without bringing unwanted attention to himself.

Thankfully, there were still people out there who used this same method and though he only had a small handful of channels to choose from, he was just happy there was someone out there trying to reach out beneath the radar.

Shortwave analog signals were especially tricky to track which made them perfect for those who were willing to rebel against the regime to communicate important information about what was going on.

Wufei's most current pet project was building a radio that could reach long distances without alerting the satellites that were constantly monitoring activity across the airwaves and searching for any whispers of an uprising.

It was slow-going, but progress was being made. Wufei was no mechanic and he lacked the technical expertise that both Heero and Trowa possessed. It would have been impossible without the formulas that Heero had sent virtually to the AI programs in each of their Gundams shortly before the world went dark.

It was something that Wufei often pondered on, especially late at night when sleep eluded him. The fact that Heero had even thought to do such a thing could only mean he'd known something was going to go terribly wrong before it did.

But how had he known? Did someone tip him off, or was it simply another one of those inexplicable things Heero always managed to pull off that no one could really understand? And if he knew about this, about what was coming, what else had he known? What secrets did he take with him to his grave?

Was it possible that he'd had time to alert any of the other pilots? Had Quatre known anything? Did Duo, or Trowa know anything and if so, were they still out there somewhere, protecting this information until the time came to put whatever it was into action?

Of course, there was no way of knowing any of this, at least for the moment. It was also entirely possible that Heero knew nothing, but for Wufei, it was the uncertainty that was killing him. If there was anything in the world he despised, it was being kept out of the loop. It was like missing key pieces of a puzzle and no matter how many ways he tried to rearrange them, he still could not get them to fit.

He gave the dial one last gentle tap and finally, the soothing melody of Toccata and Fugue in D Minor filled the small greenhouse. The composition was still slightly laced with static, certainly no match for modern advances in digital audio, but he discovered he rather liked the old fashioned sound. It took him back in time, to a place where life was simpler and evading the authorities was as easy as leaving town.

For now, all he could do was wait and try not to draw attention to himself. Try to gather as much intelligence as he could and hopefully with Dorothy's help, they'd be able to unite the resistance and strengthen their forces until the time was right to strike back.

He lost himself in his gardening for a while, something he typically did while tending to his plants in the mornings. He tried his best to keep the real world out of this place that was bursting with new life, new beginnings, and with any luck, a bright future.

He prayed that someday soon, humans could once again have that same hope because the only way they would ever have a chance at overthrowing the dictatorship was to band together and never give up fighting.

He had to keep the faith, otherwise there was no reason to continue on living in this world which had become so dark and desolate. Humanity had fallen on difficult times before, all throughout history. They'd had more than their fair share of wars, plague, and famine, even faced extinction during some of those times. But at no point in human history had there ever been a time when things looked as bleak as they did now.

It was strange, but he'd discovered that the worse the world got, the more hopeful he became. He couldn't remember ever clinging so hard to the idea that people were inherently good, despite all their flaws and shortcomings. He found himself desperately holding on, like a man dangling off the ragged edge of a cliff with the last of his strength and an overpowering will to survive.

He recalled Trowa saying something along those lines eight years ago, when they'd taken refuge at the circus during the first war. Trowa had that way about him, difficult to put a finger on, but something that Wufei's clan elders would have referred to as an ‘old soul'. The mysterious pilot seemed to understand human nature in a way the rest of them could not. And he'd accepted human nature in a way the rest of them could not.

There is never a time in any of our lives where we feel more alive than when Death is knocking at the door.

Wufei conceded now that truth which he'd been unable to accept at the time. The closer people got to the end, the harder they clung to life. The more precious it became. All the things humans take for granted instantly becomes priceless when they are on the cusp of losing it all.

Wufei's cynicism and pessimistic outlook on the evolution of humankind had faded over time as his species crept closer and closer to reaching the point of no return and with each push further into looming darkness, he increasingly dug his heels in, more determined than ever to pull it back from the brink of destruction.

He hummed along to the music as he snipped the tea leaves that had reached full maturity and dropped them into an old tin. From there, he would dry them out, grind them with mortar and pestle, then divide and place them in biodegradable pouches. He would tie the pouches off with thin pieces of string and distribute them to shops and diners as far as Anchorage, living and working and making his meager earnings under the alias, Zhang Min.

While it was unlikely that many of the people here, if any, would even recognize his real name, it was a risk he was not willing to take. Here, he was simply Zhang Min and had always been Zhang Min. The son of Chinese rice farmers from the great state of Utah, in the good ol' U. S. of A. as Duo would say.

Wufei had found the name and location on an old U.S. Census form and, taking a page out of Trowa's book, assumed the young man's identity when he discovered the real Zhang had disappeared after a weekend of drinking with his friends. He was never found and later presumed dead by the authorities.

After adopting a little backstory to accompany the name, Wufei reentered the world as a civilian for the first time in eight years. But he never forgot who he was. How could he? Eight years of sacrifice. Eight years of bloodshed and death, of loss, gain, and then more loss. Eight years of sleeping with one eye open, of night terrors so horrific, they left him shaking for hours afterward. Those were the things that permanently imprinted themselves, like the needle of a tattoo gun inking scores of suffering across your soul.

Even though there were times when he wanted nothing more than to forget, it simply wasn't possible. Even more so now that there were people who should never be forgotten and if he forgot them, who was left to keep their memories alive? To honor them for every sacrifice they selflessly made so that humanity could live in peace? To be forgotten by a world that had failed to maintain the peace they'd given their lives for was an abomination in his eyes.

And so help him, if he lived for no other reason, it was going to be to make damned sure this world knew who those people were. And that it remembered them for the rest of its selfish, miserable days.

By the time he finished irrigating the plants, the sun had nearly reached the noon point in the sky and his belly began to rumble with hunger. He went back to his bench and laid out the rest of tea leaves, sliding the trays into their racks and turning on the heat lamps for quicker dehydration which preserved the flavor and medicinal potency.

He would return again in the evening to lower the insulation panels, but for the remainder of the day, the sun would provide the light and heat the plants needed to thrive. He clicked off the radio, interrupting the melodic flow of Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 16, and slid his coat back on. Tucking the Grundig beneath his arm, he stepped out into the sunshine and lifted his face into the wind to let the cool breeze dry the humidity from his skin.

The snow was already beginning to melt, leaving the ground wet and mucky and it squelched beneath the soles of his boots as he made his way back to the cabin to fix a lunch of sauteed White Perch and leftover roasted vegetables.

It was going be a mild day, mid-fifties with sunny skies. A good day for hiking and he scribbled that down on his mental itinerary, sacrificing a little reading time to get out and enjoy the nice weather while it lasted since more snow was expected for the night ahead.

He stepped inside the utility room and kicked his boots off before removing his coat and hanging it on the hook mounted on the door. He'd let the wood in his stove continue to smolder while he was gone and as always, it did a wonderful job of chasing out the chill of the night. The cabin's interior was only about nine hundred square feet so it didn't take much to heat the place.

While he had electricity, it was reserved only for the barest necessities such as lights, refrigerator, washing machine, and the minimum amount of time that he used his computer. His stove, water heater, and dryer were powered by a propane tank that stood about fifty feet from the cabin. It was cheap and he could survive on a full tank for well over a year. During the summer months, he would begin the installation of solar panels on the roof.

He made his way through the hallway and into the living room which led to the kitchen, but paused when he passed by the small, four by six framed photograph that he kept on the little hexagon-shaped end table next to his sofa. He picked it up and stared down at it, an involuntary smile quirking up the sides of his mouth.

The photo was taken shortly after the first war was declared over when they'd all been enjoying some down time in the Peacemillion's recreation room. At that point, Quatre was recovering nicely from his stab wound was allowed to get up and walk around with a little assistance. Something Trowa, he remembered fondly, was more than happy to offer.

The five of them had been engaged in a rather heated game of Monopoly with both Heero and Quatre not surprisingly in the lead, when Noin suddenly appeared out of nowhere, camera in hand, and shouted, "Say cheese!"

The result was rather hilarious, though he hadn't thought so at the time. In the photo, he was sitting in one of the folding plastic chairs that surrounded the games table with his arms crossed over his chest and two of Duo's fingers sticking up like rabbit ears behind his head.

Duo was sitting to his right and just behind with a shit-eating grin on his face and the middle finger of his other hand flipping the camera the bird. Heero wound up blinking when the picture was snapped and Trowa and Quatre took up the other side of the table with the blond leaning back into the taller pilot, a radiant smile lighting up his face.

It was strange seeing a smile on Trowa's face, but as he stared at the photo the way he had countless times before, he could see the traces of something resembling contentment. Maybe even happiness.

All of them, Wufei included, had been privy to Trowa's evolution over the course of the first war. In the beginning, he'd been shut down, cold and withdrawn. It wasn't until later that he found out he'd also been suicidal. Obviously more low-key about it than Heero had been, he'd hid it well.

Something happened during that time that changed him and Wufei had the instinctive feeling that much of that had to do with the little blond in the photo who was leaning back into him with the kind of confident comfort that could only come from being so intimately close to someone.

It turned out that Trowa had simply needed something, someone to live for and that was what Quatre and the rest of them, as well as the young woman at the circus was able to give him.

As terrible as it sounded, Wufei almost hoped Trowa hadn't made it, especially not long enough to have caught the news of Quatre's death in Jordan. He'd never really delved into the two boys' relationship, or asked either of them about it, but his gut feeling was that there was much more going on than friendship.

It was something he could easily empathize with. He hadn't been keen on his arranged marriage to Meiran in the beginning, but he never complained because he'd been raised to believe it was his duty and men did their duties without bellyaching about it. Over the course of the nine months of their marriage, he began to get to know the kind and soft-spoken girl who'd been a complete stranger when they'd made their vows together.

By the time he'd learned of her death, he had loved her so fiercely, he wasn't sure how he was going to get on with his life without her. The only way he knew how to honor her sacrifice in the way she deserved was to leave his pacifist life and all of the ideals he'd held so dear behind him, and get out there and fight for the same things she had been fighting for.

He'd been so bitter and angry at the world around him, hellbent on vengeance. For years, he'd felt like his body was simply a shell surrounding a dark, empty void. That was the last thing he ever wanted for Trowa, or even Duo.

And living in the world that he did now, he couldn't help but think that sometimes, death can be more merciful.

He set the photo back down onto the table and headed into the kitchen to fix his lunch, trying to shake this purgatory-esque feeling that clung to him like an invisible residue. Being passive was not in his nature, especially not when things were in such dire need of action.

His bones itched with restlessness and his soul stirred with impatience. It was all he could do to keep himself occupied and refrain from doing something rash and no doubt, stupid. Living in the middle of the wilderness, playing Paul Bunyan did not sit right with him and the only thing that kept him from acting on his impulses was Dorothy's pleas to keep himself safe. That the world needed him if it was ever going to have a chance at defeating Dekim's regime.

Aside from himself and his demons, he really didn't have anyone else to listen to except her. And how shitty of a man would he be if he let the only one he could trust down and left her alone in this cold, cruel world?

"A shitty man indeed," he said as he flipped the perch over to brown the other side and gave the leftover vegetables a stir. It was strange how someone who'd once been an enemy had become his most trusted ally. His only ally. She was putting her neck on the chopping block by even reaching out to him. He owed her nothing less than a soldier's promise.

Heero's voice echoed inside his head and Wufei easily recognized that familiar nasally chuckle. Once a soldier, always a soldier, eh Chang?

"You got that right," he answered, sliding the perch onto a clean plate. He tipped the saucepan filled with carrots, potatoes, and green beans and deposited them next to the perch, grabbed a fork from the silver drawer, and took his lunch over to the tiny round table in the corner.

Still don't know why you have two chairs. You waiting for someone?

He speared a carrot onto his fork and popped it into his mouth. "Don't you have anything better to do in the afterlife than pick on my seating arrangements?"

Of course, Wufei was familiar with the concept of cabin fever and the way social isolation could affect the human brain. It was much more likely that his conversations with the late Heero Yuy were simply his mind's way of easing the loneliness and guilt he still harbored over his death.

But as Duo would say, Hey, whatever floats your boat, man.

"Why doesn't Quatre ever talk to me?"

For a long time, Heero didn't answer and Wufei was beginning to think that there wouldn't be one until...

He's not here.

"Where's ‘here'?"

He's not here...with us.

"Us?"

He could almost hear the dead man's exasperated huff. Us! You know, me and Relena?

"She's with you?"

Where else would she be, you dumb ass?

He chewed on a bite of perch and pondered the eccentric mass of cells, chemicals, and neurotransmitters that was the human brain. Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment.

Are you getting philosophical now?

"Why shouldn't I? It's obvious that I'm losing my mind."

Fei, you were nuts when I met you.

"Look who's talking." He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and rearranged it over his lap. Maybe he was crazy, but why not just go with the flow? "So, if Quatre's not with you, where is he?"

I'm disappointed that it took so long for you to ask.

"I'm disappointed by a lot of things, Yuy. Are we going to play tit for tat now?"

Are you going to use that brain for anything more than recipes and gardening tips?

He shoved his chair away from the table and stood up, angrily grabbing his plate and dumping it into the sink. He wasn't planning on responding to that, but against his better judgement, he spun around and glared at the blank wall above his table. "You know what? Fuck you! If you don't have anything useful to tell me then just fuck off."

He stormed from the room and threw himself down onto the sofa, blushing a little at the melodramatic flair in which he did it, and then grabbed his book off the coffee table.

"Stupid Yuy. Always trying to get one over on me. You always have. You're dead! There is no competition, okay? You got that, you insufferable jerk?"

When there was no response, he snorted and opened his book to the marked page. "That's what I thought."

After an hour of intense reading involving the guerilla warfare tactics used by twentieth century militias, his eyelids began to droop and the words on the page became increasingly blurry. With a yawn, he slid the bookmark back in to save his place and closed the book, intent on a little catnap to chase the afternoon blahs away.

If this was a war they were going to win, they would not only have to use the enemy's technology against them, but also implement some of the more primitive, but epoch methods of wartime that humanity's ancestors relied on.

Nothing like bringing a bayonet to a cyberfight, Heero's voice whispered in his head.

"Shut up," he mumbled, turning onto his other side as if that would somehow stop the dead man from bothering him.

It was mercifully quiet after that and his mind drifted along the soothing coast of sleep, sinking deeper into the heavy tide as the world began to fall away into darkness. After an indefinite amount of time, he couldn't be sure if he'd dreamed it, maybe some sort of wishful thinking from his subconscious, but Heero was there was again, whispering things into his ear that just barely made sense to his fading coherence.

Quatre's not here, Wufei. He's not here because he's not dead.

He bolted upright, immediately wide awake, and sucked in a sharp breath when he turned his head and spotted a figure sitting in one of the armchairs that flanked the fireplace.

"Yuy?!"

Nataku, he hadn't aged a bit and he looked exactly the way Wufei remembered him. Heero leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and he wanted to weep from the familiarity of the posture.

"Are you really here?"

Heero shrugged and said, "What do you think?"

"I think I've finally gone ‘round the bend."

"I didn't realize we were contesting your sanity, or lack therof."

That stung and combined with the impossibility of the situation wearing off like a novelty item, it brought him back down to reality without a parachute. "You're an ass. You always were an ass."

"We're not here to contest that either."

"Then why are you - wait. When I was falling asleep a few minutes ago, you said...did you say Quatre wasn't dead?"

"I did."

"But...how can he not be? I saw it myself!"

Heero scowled and scratched his knee. It was such a Heero thing to do, right down to the way his eyelids fluttered when he did it. "You saw nothing aside from what Dekim's people wanted you and everyone else to see. You should know better than anyone about the tricks of propaganda. Everything they show the world is an illusion. You see and hear only what they want you to see and hear."

"Okay?" He knew that much was true, but... "Why not do the same thing with the rest of us?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Wufei. You and I both know that the four of us were never and would never be an influential figure in society. Outside of our credentials as Gundam pilots, we're irrelevant."

"So it was Quatre's status that made him a target for a fake assassination."

"Quatre was and is a symbol of everything that is good in the world. Strength, kindness, generosity, success, freedom, nobility. He embodies what every person on this planet strives to be. He is everything that Dekim is not. And that means he's a threat. Just as Relena was."

Wufei remembered clearly now, as if a veil had been lifted away from his eyes. Quatre was upheld during that first year of the takeover as the one who would lead the revolution against Dekim and his army. He was the embodiment of hope and perseverance. And that simply would not do for Dekim. Wufei remembered the ripple of shock around the world after the announcement of Quatre's death and the devastation that followed.

When he ‘died', all hope died with him and the people of the Earth and the colonies fell to their knees in surrender. If there was one intricate flaw that humanity had still not evolved out of, it was their desperate need for a messiah. A savior. Instead of looking inward and finding the hero they needed within themselves, they looked to others to do it for them. Quatre's burden was that he'd become that savior and he'd paid the ultimate price for it. Or so everyone thought.

"But I still don't understand. Why keep him alive? Why not just kill him?"

"You don't kill something that valuable, Wufei. Only a fool would do that and Dekim is no fool."

"Well then, where is he?"

"That's what you have to find out?"

"What about Trowa and Duo? Are they alive?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking you!"

Heero stood up from the chair and took a few steps closer, waving his hands around in an agitated gesture. "Look at me! Do you really think I'm actually a damned ghost here from the afterlife to give you a message? Have you really lost your mind that much?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You tell me."

"Tell you what?!"

"You already know the answers, Wufei! They're right there inside your thick ass head," Heero shouted, pointing at his temple.

"Are you saying you're not really you? Am I just imagining all this then? Are you alive, too?"

Heero tipped his head back with a sigh of frustration. "That's the point, Wufei. You don't need to ask me. You already know! So if you don't mind, could you please get your fucking shit together and start using that intelligence of yours for something other than tea leaves and fresh water salmon?"

Wufei shrunk back as the dead man suddenly charged at him with a roar. "Wake the fuck up!"

He jerked awake at the very second when Heero would have collided with him and sucked in a pained breath as his eyes frantically darted around the room, but there was no one there. Nothing. Nada. Not even a whisper, or hint that Heero, or anyone had been there.

He sat up slowly and tried to get his rapid breathing under control, feeling as though someone had tried to smother him. "Jesus, it was a dream." He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced out the window, guessing that he'd been asleep for a couple of hours. "Just a dream."

He was shaken to his core as he swung his legs off the couch. He'd never had a dream that intense before and his hands trembled when he lifted them to his face. He felt like he'd aged twenty years in just a few hours.

"Just a dream, Wufei," he repeated. "Get a grip." Though deep down, he was having serious doubts about that. His belly churned with anxiety, something that was odd for him, especially when he couldn't figure out the source of it. "Maybe I really am going crazy."

He thought about calling Dorothy just to get some reassurance that he was actually sane, but he'd spoken to her only yesterday and it was far too risky to place a call from his end. It would have to wait until she contacted him again.

He forced himself up on wobbly legs and went to the kitchen to brew himself some tea. It was mid afternoon now, a good time to get out for a walk. Perhaps the fresh air and sunshine would help him clear his head enough to sift through this new information.

What he'd been told was still a little too overwhelming to absorb at the moment. That Quatre and even Heero could still be alive somewhere was something he hadn't considered and he had no way of knowing if any of that was actually true.

Heero's words came back to him, like a kick to the diaphragm and it made the fine hairs on his neck and arms stand at full attention. You know.

He was missing something vital here, but damned if he could figure out what. He shook his head and poured the boiling water into his kese, hoping the soothing effects of the chamomile would help to settle his nerves.

"What, Heero? What do I know?"

~ * ~

Chapter 3

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