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"The Rovers"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, Romance, Adventure Pairings: ? Summary: The characters from Gundam Wing find love amid the perils of war, oh… and they save the world while they're at it. The story is set in an alternative universe on earth. Part One is told from Heero's point of view. We meet the roving people with a hidden agenda, and the men hunting them. In Part Two, things go wild and…well, let's just get through these first four chapters of Part One and see how it goes. Thanks to Waterlily for reading and offering her
advice not just once but twice—and when you get through part
two you see just how long a story this is and just how much I owe
her! Hope the exchange rate is in my favor… "The Rovers " Part Two Chapter 7 - Seeking Warmth (o) Heero's pov The sky was fading above the hills, night was an hour away. It was colder now, much colder. Before it was dark, it was evident that they would have to find cover or die. Their horses were worn-out, too. They had had to stop and find shelter- there had been nothing more they could do on shushy roads in the dark. A firm layer of snow would give them a surface to roll over, and nobody wanted to begin prying for snow! "Is that a hut?" "Too small. Wagon. The roof's caved in on one side." "Fixable," Heero decided at once. "Right now it looks like the royal palace," Duo agreed. Nearby was a thicket partially under cover of trees, so the horses would have some protection. After clearing the back so they could climb inside, they found it roomy enough that they might sleep holding each other. They lay down on the flatbed, looking out the opening, and held each other beneath the worn blanket. "I wonder how many others have taken refuge in here?" Heero asked. "I don't care," Duo groaned. "Damn, I am so cold." The wind that night made it even colder, but the fog blew away, and a vast white moon rose above the hillside. A field of reeds sparkled with frost, and they saw a wolf, a gray shadow trotting along the river. It stopped and looked at them, then went on, pads silent on the ice. At last the world has frozen, Heero thought. A winter that would never end this far north. "Sorry you left the Rover camp?" Duo asked. "Yes. But I would be sorrier to have stayed and watched you leave without me." "Sap," Duo admonished him gently and pressed a kiss of apology into his cold cheek. "It's so early," Duo moaned. "If we sleep now we'll be awake before dawn and when it's the coldest. "We'll stay awake then," Heero said. "I thought L2 was warmer than this." "Usually is. Would be if I had any say in the weather." They tried in every way not to go to sleep, but they were exhausted. They lay in each other's arms, the blanket wrapped around them, empty grain bags pulled up and over them for as much cover as they could get. Outside, the November moon-the hunter's moon-was full, a cold, pale light on the frozen river. A clear night, the million stars were silver. Duo was warm to hold, his breath on Heero's temple. When he dreamed, his hands moved. "I'm not asleep," Duo murmured. "Too cold. Talk to me." "I can't think of anything to say. You talk." After a few moments, Duo began. "This brings me memories, holding Solo. Long ago. Leader of my gang on L2. I've missed love. How about you?" "I have wondered if war's made love impossible for me, but since I've met you the unattainable is at hand." He felt Duo's smile against his neck, and then he said, "Yeah, it is." In the drift of his mind he paused on what it would be like to slide Duo's tunic up above his waist, his pants down. He sighed, shifted his weight, the wagon springs creaked. Where the cold, sharp air touched his skin it actually hurt, and he pressed his face against Duo's shoulder. Heero was sure Duo fell asleep first, then him. Noises woke him, and the cold. Sometimes he slept, and sometimes Duo did. The wagon stood silent, only a faint sigh from the trees and snuffling from the horses. A few flakes of snow drifted down, then more. The clouds began to gather and the moon faded away until there was hardly any light at all. The snow fell heavier now, hissed down, a white blanket on the river, and the hills, and the wagon. Heero woke up with a start. It was not so cold as it had been and there was light. He touched Duo, but he did not move. Then he held his hand against his face, and he stirred, actually managed a smile, putting his hand on top of his. "Time we we're going," Heero said. Duo opened one eye, but didn't move his hand. "Look out," Heero urged him. "Uh-uh." "Duo, it's white with snow." Duo's eyelids fluttered open. He looked out. "No kidding? Damn!" "Sometimes you can't ride through mud, but you can through snow," pointed out. They fixed the wagon as best they could then hitched their horses to the stiff harness. Heero's horse in particular put up a fuss, unused as it was to pulling a wagon. But they settled down at last and they rode through the war that night. They saw armored wagons positioned on a bridge. An OZ officer, a dark silhouette leaning on the railing, watched the rattling wagon as they passed beneath him, but nothing happened. A few miles north of there a village had been burned down, smoke still rising from the charred beams. And twice they heard gunfire, OZ guns misfiring, others answering, blasting in the murkiness like sparks blown across the sky. Sometimes the snow fell in squalls; swirling, windblown. Then it cleared, the clouds rolling east, the frozen river shimmering in the wan light. Duo drove the horses with both hands gripping the reins, coaxing the wagon atop the ice-covered river, riding the snow that gave them traction. Heero keep a lookout, staring into the frozen wasteland for enemies and a route change. "There!" He pointed out a small road that led up a hill from the river. "Perhaps an abandoned ferry crossing." Duo stopped the horses and tied them to a tree. Both men climbed the hill. They found a well-used dirt road and an ancient milestone that pointed the way to Riddle. It would be a trick and take a long time to get the wagon off the hard-frozen river. Heero and Duo knelt by the worn wood wheels and studied the surface like engineers, finally building a track of branches to the edge of the shore. It worked. Horses huffing, wheels spinning, the wagon lurched, swayed sideways then climbed. Once on the upper road, Duo let the horses get their breath back. "Where are we?" Heero asked. "Not far from Riddle." Heero huffed. "I read the sign. How far?" "A few hours, if nothing goes wrong." Duo clicked his tongue, slapped the reins, and they moved off slowly on the rutted road. Midday passed, then 1:00 P.M. They drove through snow-covered forest, boughs heavy and white bent almost to the ground. Heero fell into an exhausted sleep, then woke suddenly as they bounced over a rock. "I'm sorry," he said, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to abandon you." "I'm all right," Duo said. "No one's around but us." "I should have helped to keep you awake. I can sing something, if you like." "You don't have to." "I can discuss-oh, well certainly music. Chopin. Or Rachmaninoff. I learned about it from the grand ball at the palace." "I'd rather hear you sing." Steam rose off the horses pulling the wagon up a long hill. At the crest, Duo brought them gently to a stop. They were on a wooded height above Riddle. Directly below, a poor neighborhood at the edge of town. Crooked one-story houses, crooked dirt streets, white with frost. Wisps of wood smoke hung above the chimneys in the still air. "Here we are." Duo steered the wagon to the side of the road and stopped. "Lucky for us it's still daylight. We got a few hours until the curfew. So, we can go into the open-air market with the produce drays from the countryside." "Here comes one now," Heero said. "Good, we can follow it in. Once we get there we can make contact with the local Rovers unit-our luck, it's a good one. Very good. They'll move us the rest of the way, to the Doctors arms storage. In a mule train, maybe. Or hidden amongst the vegetable wagons." Smooth as a river of ice. Heero's job was to wait, guard the wagon, while Duo found the Doctors' contacts and made his deals. No one paid him any heed, so after a while he bought a book from a close-by merchant stall. He took up his post at the back of the wagon and waited, reading. An hour passed and he bought a coffee from a passing refreshment seller. And waited through the late afternoon. It grew dark and he knew Duo would be late. They'd be staying the night in Riddle. He felt he could leave the wagon a minute, so he located the only inn in town, two buildings down, not far. He saw Heero right away, looking very sorrowful and abandoned, sitting hunched over a book and an empty cup of coffee. He walked over and knelt down across from him. "Forgive me," he said. "Oh, it doesn't matter." Heero folded over the corner, marking the last page read and closed the book. "Were you successful?" "A nightmare, out on the roads. We had to change a wheel. We got what we came for and can load the wagon tomorrow." He took Heero's hands. "You're wet," Heero said. "And cold." Duo sighed. "It hasn't been a good day." "Maybe you should get some rest." Duo looked woefully at the wagon. Heero understood. He hadn't wanted to crawl into that place again either, which is why he felt good about giving Duo his news. "I have acquired a room. You could come upstairs. Dry your hair, at least." Heero smiled shyly. "Well, why didn't you say so from the start?" Duo rose, trying out a rakish smile. It was shaky at best. He held out a hand to Heero. A very small single room with a bed in an alcove and a bathroom. He took off his overcoat; Heero hung it by the radiator. Put his jacket in the armoire and his soaked shoes on a sheet of newspaper. "Heaven!" Duo announced. They fell into one another's arms, laughing, and then rolled onto the bed. Creaking springs made them laugh more. Heero used his hands and friction to warm Duo's skin. And then his mouth, hot on Duo's lips, neck, chest. "Oh, God!" Duo shouted when Heero's tongue swirled over his erection. "Heero looked up. "Had enough? Warmed up?" "Hell no! If you stop now," Duo said, gathering his thoughts together when he least had control over them, "I'll... I'll..." "Combust?" Heero supplied. "Maybe. I won't be accountable for what I'll do." "I see. Can't have that." Heero returned to what he'd been doing, hands massaging and tongue working its magic. "Oh!" Duo groaned in ecstasy, bucked enough to jab Heero in the nose until he pinned Duo's hips in place. Heero's mouth finished the job, leaving Duo panting on the thin covers. His turn would be soon, he knew, if he was patient. He just had to snuggle close and wait a couple minutes for Duo to come out of his sex-induced coma. "Um, Duo?" Duo continued to breathe. In and out. His chest rose and lowered. "Hey." Heero poked his side. "Are you awake?" Sigh. No hot mouth on his dick tonight. Heero pulled the covers over them both and settled himself around Duo. He looked forward to an energetic morning romp. He wasn't worried. After falling asleep on him, Duo would be so mortified when he woke up. Such was Duo burdened with his fair-is-fair attitude. And with that Heero drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face-anticipating wonderful things. (o) Wufei's pov The next morning began with an overcast sky and generally dreary outlook. In spite of that, Wufei felt light as a feather, practically in the mood to sing and dance. He didn't. He indulged himself, instead, by remaining in bed while Zechs washed up and dressed. "Before parting from last night's festivities," Zechs said. "The general invited me to meet with him- today." "How nice." Wufei sat up. "I shall go with you. I have a score to settle." Zechs disagreed and they had words. Wufei wanted to take the man to task for his attacks on his homeland. Make him pay with his life. What they needed to do, Zechs felt, was place a few seeds of worry in General Treize Khushrenada's head. Misdirection, false leads, intrigue. "Getting even will have to wait for another time," Zechs concluded. "This place is far too well fortified and we are not prepared." The truth could be a cruel, bitter pill to swallow. Wufei took it with a dollop of hope; the hope that there would be a more advantageous point in time guaranteeing him victory-or nearly. "Yes, yes, I see your point," he said. There were more words, a discussion, and in the end, they agreed that Wufei could accompany him to the outer office, but that Zechs would meet with Treize alone. This time. Wufei yanked at his tunic to straighten the folds. "I shall wait and listen." "When the time for action is clear, you shall have your turn," Zechs said. "Naturally," Wufei said. "Let's get this over with." A guard at the office door blocked their way, but Zechs pushed past him, and Wufei knocked him out with a blow to the head. "And, yes, taking him out was mandatory," he whispered to Zechs. Not in the plan though. The prince sighed and commented, "I suppose you needed to get that out of your system." He entered the next room, closing the door behind him. Wufei leaned against the wall and cracked open the door. He could just hear their voices. A tiny push more and he could observe them. General Khushrenada looked up when Zechs Merquise came to stand at his desk. "Your highness," he said to his prince, and then returned to what he'd been doing prior to the interruption. He was busy writing-transferring jotted notes to a sheet of paper that would be retyped as a report. "General," Zechs said. "A word with you." "Yes, your highness. In a moment." This was pure rudeness, and they both knew it, Wufei was sure of that. It was Khushrenada's place to rise to his feet, offer a polite greeting, and attempt to satisfy the wishes of his soon-to-be king. But, he as much as said, the business of state security took precedence. Now and forever. Zechs Merquise, Prince of Sanc and soon-to-be king, could stand there and wait. Which, for a time, he did. Khushrenada's gold fountain pen scratched across the paper. Like a field mouse in the granary. He made eternal notes, this man with his neatly trimmed hair, a piece coiling over his forehead like a drip of thick honey. Scratch, scratch. What I would do for my sword, Wufei wished. But he did not have even a dagger or a pocketknife. Their weapons had been confiscated at the outermost door. Khushrenada may have felt his murderous thoughts. He spoke to Zechs at last. "I'm sure what you have to say must be important, your highness. I mean to give it my full attention." "Please, sir," Merquise said, his voice barely under control. "I must tell you that certain confidential information, pertaining to my office, has been made available to the Northern prefecture." In other words, Wufei thought, you know too much, but I know all about it. "Has it. You're certain?" "I am. It may have been done directly, or through the services of an informant." Wufei wondered why Zechs was offering the man a chance to come clean and explain, or lie, about his role, leading armed Sanc forces against the colonies. "Regrettable. My office will definitely take an interest in this, your highness. Just as soon as we can." Merquise lowered his voice. "The source must be identified and gotten rid of!" "And it will, when we can." "Furthermore, I don't like to see a member of my personal staff here without a member of my elite guard. I'm speaking of Lucrezia Noin." "A lovely secretary. You think she is in danger here?" Rather than get into a tricky talk with the man, Zechs told him he would leave his two guardsmen at the palace. "To accompany her should she travel again." "If you insist, your highness, but I should think you would have the greater need." Zechs pounded the table top with both fists and leaned over. "YOU! You, my general, are to remain in your Northern estate." He had all the other man's attention now. "Bratislava?" he asked. "Stay out of the Sanc Capital City." Zechs continued to glare into the other man's eyes. "But I like it in Sanc. Milder weather." Treize smiled a tense, forced smile. "Or else!" "You are threatening... me?" Treize asked. "No, I assure you that if we meet again in my kingdom, you will die there." Zechs left in a huff, running into Wufei at the door. "You heard?" "Everything." Wufei touched his sleeve. "We've done all we can here." "Now, let's see what his next move will be," Zechs said. They gathered their horses and weapons at the gate and rode away, leaving Duke Dermail's palace and the two royal guardsmen from Sanc behind. "Now we shall go it alone, first stop L5." Wufei had said it for both of them. Which meant, they were about to take apart the kingdom and starting with one obvious but difficult strand, really the only one he knew, in what must have been a vast tangle of shadowy connections. (o) Quatre's pov This time Trowa agreed with him. Rashid and Quatre could greatly assist him, he'd said. Actually admitted it! And dressed properly for the weather meant Quatre and Rashid would survive the hard ride and be fit to carry out the mission. He was so excited to get started! They packed food Quatre purchased from the inn and studied maps of the area showing approaches to buildings and structures and the interior layouts. Most of the facilities, Trowa said, were housed underground. They would have to haul everyone up and out using the fire escapes if the underground routes were blocked. They came up with plan "A" and "B". Trowa wanted a "C", but they hadn't time. Eight grueling hours later, Quatre knew he was pushing his limits. He still felt he had to prove himself and lives might be at stake. He was not a weakling prince too good to get his hands dirty. If there were arms to move and place into the hands of freedom fighters, then he would do his fair share of the work. If it was saving the doctors and their work, then he could do that, too. It was a chance to prove to Trowa that including him hadn't been a mistake, even though nothing had gone right from the moment they had entered the laboratory. Currently, he was winging a plan "C". "After him!" came a shout in the distance. Quatre had to get a move on. It was a bad jump, one foot slipped as he took off. He flailed at the empty air, and he almost cleared the railing, but then his left heel caught and that spilled him forward, his head hitting the slate floor of the balcony floor as something pinged in the stairway above him and somebody shouted. He had not felt the bullet, but he was on his knees, vision swimming, a rock in his chest that blocked his air. He went away. Came back. Looked down at a windowsill, worn and weathered gray. A big drop of blood fell on it, then another. His heart raced, he clawed at the iron fretwork, somehow stood up. The world spun around him; whistles, shouts-a brick exploded and he turned away from it. Saw the ladder to the floor below, made himself half slide, half tumbled to the platform. His escape-from everything, forever-was six floors down into the alley and he knew it, he just had to get one leg over the railing and then the other and then the terrors of L3 no longer existed. Hide under the ground, they will never touch you. Or in the woods, find the meet-up spot! He was going to do it-then he didn't. Instead, the window on the balcony exploded into somebody's kitchen-glass, blood, and Quatre Winner all showing up for breakfast. A family around a table; a still life, a spoon frozen in air between bowl and mouth, a woman at a stove, a man in suspenders. Then he was in a parlor; a canary tweeted, in a mirror above a buffet a man with bright blood spattered on his face. He fumbled at the family's locks, somehow worked the right bolt the right way, the door opened, then closed behind him. He froze. Then the door on the other side of the landing flew open and a man beckoned fiercely from the darkness of his hall. "This way," he said, voice thick with excitement. It could have been a friend or the enemy. Quatre Winner couldn't see-objects doubled, then faded into ghosts of themselves-then a slender man with a shock of long bangs, a delicate chin, and green, restless eyes emerged from the fog. He wore a dark green shirt. Swords and unnamable weapons bristled from his back. When Quatre didn't move, the man grabbed him-he had the strength of the mad, he may have been mad for all Quatre knew-and shoved him down a long, dark hallway. Once again Quatre started to fade out, he felt the wall sliding past on his right shoulder as the man half-carried him along. There was a sense of still air, the odor of closed rooms. A hallway made unlikely angles, sharp turns into blank walls, a wood panel swung wide, and he found himself in a box that smelled of freshly sawn planks. Then it was dark, with a heavy silence, and as he blacked out he realized that he had been entombed. There was more. It went on from there, but he was less and less a part of it. Merely something of value. It was not so bad to be something of value, he discovered. He was fed into the Archers Saving Machine-a mechanism that knew better than to expect anything of fugitives, the damaged and the hunted. It simply saved them. So all Quatre Winner ever retained of the next few days were images, remnants, as he was moved here and there, an object in someone else's operation, hidden and re-hidden, the treasure of an anxious man whose face was familiar and name was on the tip of his tongue. He came to rest on a couch in a farmhouse, a place of palpable safety. It was drizzling, and he could smell wet earth and spring. It took him back to Sanc, to the wet season when as a boy he once went hunting and stayed in a hunting lodge-of someone's. There too they burned oak logs-those had been of the beautiful Sanc Red Oak- wet dogs dried by the fire, somebody wore oilskins, and the smell of a stone house in the rain was cut by bay rum, which the Maguanac uncles always used after shaving. His head ached; his mouth was dry as chalk. He looked around for any sign of Trowa. He could remember his face and his name now, and that it had been him who had saved him. Instead, his gaze rested on a young woman entering the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, looked in his eyes with a penlight, then put a delicate finger on a place above his forehead. "Hurt?" she asked. "Not much." "I'm Dr. Po, the one who sewed you up," she said. "In a few days we'll take them out." He had six stitches in his hairline. He had not been hit by a ball of lead, but the fall on the balcony had given him a concussion. "Thank you," he said politely. "Where am I? Where's Trowa Barton? Is he all right? And another man, Rashid?" Dr. Po stood. "Trowa's in better condition than you. Rashid is fine. Rest while you can. Others are not, and it is to them that I must hurry." An hour later an adjutant took him upstairs, to an office in an old farm bedroom with a little fireplace. The man behind a long worktable was powerfully built, his head shaven, polished to a high shine, and with eyes narrow and dark like Wufie's. When he stood to shake hands, Quatre Winner saw that he was tall and athletic-looking. "Prince," he said quietly, indicating a chair. "I am called Master 0, from L5." He was one of the "doctors" Duo had told him about; one of the co-creators of the fantastic weaponry he and Trowa had been dispersing to the northern colonies. "Hello. I'm called... Quatre." "Well, Quatre, you might as well hear all the bad news at once," he said. "The basement of L3's Engineering University was raided by an OZ unit, files were there were taken. The man you knew as Instructor H escaped in disguise; his assistant swallowed a cyanide capsule." He drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. "The good news is that the other three doctors were not present at the time and, so, are quite safe. You, the Maguanac, and Trowa Barton survived." For a moment, Quatre Winner didn't say anything. Then, "How did that happen?" Master O's shrug was eloquent: let's not waste our time with theories, we don't know and it's likely we won't ever know. "Of course we are working on that," Master O said. "Did you know who Instructor H was?" he asked. "I knew the man, but his involvement with the others? No, I didn't know, not exactly. I knew him as my tutor- in L4." "Weapons Engineer, specializing in psychological controls and... well, he is one of the best of us all." Master O cleared his throat. "He had stored the blueprint of a very dangerous technology in the facility, which you and the Maguanac recovered and, I am relieved to say, got out." He patted Quatre on the shoulder. He had vague memories of packing his shirt full of papers as Rashid jammed more into his hands. His shirt was empty now. "Those plans are not in the hands of OZ today, and I thank you." Quatre remembered the crinkling of paper in the box. The documents had been hidden with him in a coffin. "You are welcome." "Sources in Sanc have informed us- this was a few days ago- that the King has been relieved of duty-permanently. We suspect he was assassinated, but we don't know. Treize Khushrenada has declared himself his replacement, Emperor of all the continental kingdoms and colonies." Emperor! "But he can't! Zechs Merquise is the rightful heir!" "He will be on his way to Sanc and will have to defend his crown if he wants it. The winter has slowed everything but the progress of war. You studied at Saint-Cyr in Sanc for three years, is that correct?" "Yes. I'm familiar with the culture there." "And your health?" "It's acceptable. I'm ready to move." "Perhaps, perhaps not. We're not sending you back out with Trowa Barton." "But I-I can't let him go alone!" "He won't be alone. Know and trust that that is true. It's your decision, of course, but I want to say that there is work for you here, with the inventors. You are a well-educated young man. There is much you can learn and contribute." He paused, waiting for Quatre to respond. If he couldn't be with Trowa, then it didn't matter where or what he did-and when he could travel he would go back home. "The answer is yes," Quatre Winner said. "But only until spring. When it gets warmer... I'll be fine." The doctor acknowledged his response with a polite nod. "Instructor H will be very pleased. He's looking forward to working with you again." TBC...
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