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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Deffinately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to Dulin for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options"
Mars Colony Base Dome 2nd March AC 198 Time: 01: 27 [approx Sanc time 23:20] Giles //This is not good. If he can't even stay on his feet how the hell do I keep him out of the hands of the ESUN? // The mass of blonde hair flowed over the sprawled body to pool on the floor. The sheet was tangled about long limbs and there was a dazed look in those crystal eyes he really did not want to see. It was patently obvious that Zechs had hit the floor before he even knew that something was wrong. “Let's get you on your feet and then we can deal with getting out of here. This is a treatment room and the door over there is a way out of here that does not lead directly into the hallway. I'll get you in there and out of this room first and from there consider what next to do. I saw another door in there when the Doc was running in and out after gear to work on you. It might give us an out.” // If it does not dead end in a store cupboard.// He dared not say that aloud. Even thinking it made it too real. He had meant to check out the adjoining room but he had not had the opportunity as yet to do so, a fact which might now lead to their capture. If he was entirely honest with himself, the opportunity had existed but he had not dared leave the room and his charge unattended. He did not know who to trust and now his lack of trust presented them with another problem. He did not know if there was an exit through that door that would get them away from Blue Squad. He should have taken the chance to check but he did not know if he could trust those who had been working on the blonde to steady his condition. He should have had more sense. Even the Sleepers would want Zechs in good enough condition to move him easily and so would have treated his current medical condition. He would have had enough time to check out their surroundings and they were likely to pay for his oversight now. There was also the additional worry of not knowing if he could trust the nursing staff not to mention their presence here to those ESUN agents. If one of them was a Sleeper then they were done for and even the most innocent comment could bring Blue Squad howling down on their necks. Why did it all feel as though it was falling down around his ears? Blue eyes locked with his and he saw within those crystalline depths a mirror of his own fear. Zechs, like he, was very much afraid that the Lightning Count was not going to be getting on his feet this time. It was very possible, even probable that the man had pushed his reserves beyond their limits and there would be no recovery in time to save their hides. He had another concern about that recovery. The visions. Whatever it was that had happened outside, in that hallway had done more than simply tax the reserves of the man. The consequences of that they might not yet be seeing. Giles had to acknowledge to himself if to no one else that he knew nothing of the side effects this man might experience from episodes of vision. He knew from his own past experience that some of the Gifted were cursed with shocking side effects to some of their abilities. He himself had very few difficulties but he did periodically have to deal with headaches. His experiences and his Gift were very dissimilar to the Gifts he had thus far witnessed with Zechs. What type of side effects he could expect to deal with here could cover a broad range of very unpleasant possibilities. Zechs had already stated that he dared not go down into vision for fear that it would take him out of the game. He had been right to fear. It had happened and he was in no fit condition to be of help. //It would be just perfect if the price of my life turns out to be his capture. Raydon won't have to flay me alive, I'll do that myself.// Zechs made no complaint as Giles knelt behind him and hooked his hands under his shoulders and then locked his hands over his broad chest. The man's skin was warm to the touch, too warm and Giles shook his head, not liking that rising temperature. There was no real signs of a fever other than that elevated temperature but that had to be better than the arctic chill that had emanated from him before. There was no time to be concerned with a possible fever now. They needed to get out of the treatment room and if possible he had to get the man out of the medical centre. If he had the time and opportunity he needed to get Zechs back to the shuttle bay and to its relative safety. Giles set his feet firmly, knees comfortably bent to take the strain from his back and with a whispered warning he heaved against the man's weight in an effort to get him to stand. The pliant body in his arms stiffened and he could not miss the gasp that fell into a low grunt. A soft and stifled sound of raw agony that ultimately ended with something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. Giles winced, knowing the pressure he was placing on the man's badly bruised shoulder but he, like Zechs, knew that it could not be helped. They were being pushed for time and they had to act. Zechs had spread his hands against the floor and the muscles across his shoulders bunched with exertion. He pushed resolutely against the floor, forcing himself to use every ounce of strength available to him despite the pain to aid in getting himself off the floor. He heard Giles' hissed breath and wished himself to be smaller and lighter. He knew that he was solidly built and that he was not and never had been a fly weight but that was simply the way he was. It could not be helped. Gradually they worked his large frame up to where he could gratefully lean on the bed and relieve Giles of the bulk of his weight. His fingers closed around the foot rail and he panted, sucking air into desperate lungs, forcing the pain under control. “No.” The whisper was ragged with pain and exhaustion and a certain hopelessness. They had to face facts and they both knew it. “Not going to work.” Giles was sucking air into his lungs, staring at the door that led out into the hallway with the certain belief that it was going to slam open and Simpson was going to stalk into the room, gun drawn and it was all going to be over. He was never going to be able to get Zechs moving on his own and they had no back up. Wishing it could be otherwise was pointless. “Yeah. Yes, I think you are right. Ahm …” he considered the room for seconds that seemed like hours and finally shook his head. “If you can hold onto the bed and keep yourself from collapsing I'll check in the other room. There may be a wheelchair or something that we can use to get you out of here.” He was already moving, taking a step toward the door, daring to take his hands off the broad back, hoping that he could maintain that grip on the bed and remain upright. “No.” Giles hesitated. “No?” His head swivelled back to meet the serious blue gaze centred on him. “No. It's just not going to work. Not this time. Where is my belt? The belt with the equipment.” He knew what equipment Zechs referred to and he blanched at the very thought. If the man could not even support his own weight how could he realistically expect to fight off two members of the famous - or more appropriately infamous - Blue Squad? The man had been realistic up to this point though Giles had to admit that Zechs had done some things that had to bring his sanity into question. The point was that they were alive and free to act, though that might not remain so for long. Zechs could not stand unsupported and if he tried to take so much as a single step away from that bed he was going to end up in a heap on the floor once again. On his own Giles doubted that he was going to be capable of handling even one of those men who might burst through that door. He was certain that if he tried to handle both of them then he was going to meet with a disaster. Zechs was out of the equation and he was incapable of helping in this. With those simple facts the best option, the only solution that he could see was surely to make themselves scarce. They had to run. “You are not in any condition to …” “Trust me.” His protest was squashed by those two almost whispered words and for all that the man was visibly shaking in an effort to remain on his feet his voice was steady and steely cold. There was a frosty determination in his eyes that promised that while he might appear to be out of the equation he had not given up the fight. “Where is the gear?” // Shit. What the hell do I do now? He can't think … Still. I have underestimated him more than once today and I promised myself I would not do it again. Raydon is going to have his hands full controlling this one. I don't envy him or the Training Masters trying to talk sense into Zechs Merquise. Or is that Milliardo Peacecraft? He's a confusing son of a bitch. // One thing that the Training Masters and Raydon insisted on with all who came to Station One who had the Gift and were to be trained was that discipline was vitally important. The student had to know his limitations and trust the Training Masters ability to know when not to push. Discipline, knowing when to push and when not to and above all knowing when it was time to stop. Making this cold-eyed blonde see reason on any of those points could lead to some very interesting discussions. He huffed a breath in surrender, muttered a low comment that concerned idiots who liked to complicate the most simple of matters and for his trouble he earned the lift of a pale eyebrow. With a grunt he stalked to a cupboard to one side of the door that led to the hallway and rummaged within it. They had placed the clothing they had stripped from Zechs there and he recalled seeing the equipment belt join the flight suit and boots. “You really are not up to a fight and it is a certainty that I am not going to be able to handle the pair of them on my own. I might be able to take the tech out but from what I know of Blue Squad's reputation …” he shrugged, letting the thought hang. Zechs was no fool. He would know the skill levels they would need to deal with and what it would take to drop them. “I'm not all that eager to die, having thus far escaped that fate today. I'm not very hopeful that any action we may take will result in nothing more than the acquisition of a few more bruises and at best a set of wrist cuffs to keep us contained.” His hands closed on the belt and he pulled back out of the cupboard, turning to face the blonde. The tremble in the man's hands and arms as he tried to support his weight was worse now than it had been. If the man could not even stand up properly while leaning against the bed how did he hope to take out an elite soldier? With a sigh he moved across the room and passed the belt to Zechs. “I've had enough bruises today to last me several months, thank you. It is time to cut our losses, Giles. Time to admit that if we want to come out on top of the situation then we have to change our plans. If they should do a room by room search or should one of the staff here tell them where to find us then we can kiss goodbye to any chance of getting a confession on camera. It is only sense to acknowledge that within minutes they are going to know where to find me and they are going to have the upper hand. There was no guarantee that Simpson would have said anything incriminating against those who assigned him to this mission. I knew that and judged the chance worthwhile. We have to roll with the flow and for now that means that we take them out quickly and efficiently so that few people are placed at risk. Those few people, I might add, include you and I.” Giles considered the man who was pawing one handed through the various pouches and pockets of the belt, obviously looking for very particular equipment. His other hand seemed to have a death grip on the foot rail, his knuckles were white with the force of his grip. He was searching through the pouches with his left hand, reserving his stronger right hand and arm to maintain his upright position and that left-handed search seemed to be remarkably efficient. There was no fumbling or cursing at the inadequacies of using his off hand. “Well, I'm thankful for that of course, but we are not exactly at our fittest right now. Neither you nor I are one hundred percent. How do you propose we handle two men who are uninjured and belong to one of the toughest Alliance outfits that just happens to have a very well deserved reputation for ruthlessness? We can't fight them and if they so much as suspect that you are in here they are not just going to walk in the door and say hello, you know.” A grin worked its way onto the blonde's face and he glanced at Giles with an unholy gleam of amusement in the ice blue eyes that peeked through unruly bangs. “Why Giles, anyone would think that you did not trust me.” He could only stare at the blonde with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “At a time like this your getting playful?” “Of course. When better? It's at moments like this that one needs to retain a cool head and a sense of humour. Panic will not help. An unplanned move could end all too easily in disaster. It's a basic rule that you should never forget. Always keep a cool head and make your decisions carefully and you will not regret it later.” He knew he should not have done it but he was feeling pushed against a wall and the unnatural calmness of the blonde was getting to him. Any second that door would open and he would find himself staring down the barrel of a gun and it all would be over. He should have kept better control of himself but he slipped and the words had poured from his mouth. “Do you not regret the Libra?” To his credit the man did not strike back. For an instant his hand froze and he stiffened but it passed quickly and he continued rummaging around in the pouches. When he spoke his voice was low and even, giving nothing of his thoughts away. “I have no intentions of being captured at this time or at any time by Blue Squad if it is at all within my power to avoid. As it happens, Giles, no I do not regret what I did in the past and if you had seen what I witnessed you would not have regrets either. Check and see if you can see them and what they are doing would you?” Giles glanced at the door and sighed, shoulders slumping as he cursed his unruly tongue. He needed to get a grip on himself and he did not further insult the man by apologizing. By now the man had turned out all of the assortment of items onto the bed and was examining them, ignoring him. Giles could not blame him and wondered if he had irreparably damaged his standing with the man. Regretting what was done would change nothing and he turned and stalked to the door. Raydon had placed him on Mars specifically to keep an attentive eye on the man who once had gone by the name of the Lightning Count and should the need arise he was to act as his bodyguard. He supposed that Zechs had accepted that but he was regretting running off at the mouth and ruining what had been developing into a firm friendship. He should have minded his mouth but the fault was not all with him. Raydon should have sent a note to inform the love of his life to toe the line and listen to good common sense when the situation demanded it. The man appeared to have a death wish. How could someone in his condition expect to take out the likes of Simpson and his cronies? //It is true that so far he has been more than successful in dealing with the Sleepers and from what he has told me he's also managed to take out a few members of the squad. I admit he's good but he was not injured then and he had not experienced … what ever that was that happened in the hallway. Simpson would be the very best of them and Zechs is in bad enough condition that a toddler falling on him would take him down. Damn Specials think they are invincible. // Specials. Whether they belonged to the Alliance or to Oz the elites of the armed forces were a breed apart and could not easily admit defeat. Perhaps it was that pride in their own abilities, he did not know but he was not going to stand in the way of Zechs if he needed to prove a point. He would do what he could to keep the idiot alive and hope that he came out alive to tell the blonde just what he thought of him at the end of it. For now he was just going to have to trust in the man and in the fact that thus far he had indeed known what he was doing. // I am not going to underestimate him again. // He opened the door a fraction, just sufficient to allow him to listen at the gap for any sounds he would recognize as combat. The staff here were Healers and assistants whose only care was to heal. Civilians not fighters though he did know that at least one nurse was a combat trained medic and that some of the doctors here, including the chief surgeon were ex military and were at least capable of defending themselves though he doubted that they could take Simpson. Unless they should all attack the agents at once and in that scenario he would expect them to perhaps succeed in taking out the technician and maybe doing some sort of damage to Simpson. No, they would die if they took on both men and even if they somehow managed to take out both men he would expect that maybe one of them might walk away. Maybe. He had no doubt that somewhere out in that hallway the Grim Reaper, Death himself was lurking, perhaps chuckling quietly over more souls to be gathered this night. Death had been having a busy day. The murmur of voices reached him but not with sufficient clarity for him to understand what they were talking about. Slipping the dentists mirror out of a pocket he poked it through the gap and angled it carefully to give himself a view of the hallway. He had to open the door a little more to get a decent view and he could hear the blonde behind him mutter something that he missed and only hoped the man was not cursing him. He needed Zechs to work with him, not against him. The body had been abandoned by the nursing staff and now lay unattended on a gurney in a body bag. He could see the Chief Surgeon striding down the hallway to where four nurses had gathered, the gurney placed between them and the two soldiers who stared blankly at the body bag. Giles peered myopically at the view in the mirror, squinting to make out details. He thought that the commander was scowling at the nurses cowering away from him. As he watched Simpson gestured at the body bag and at the blood smears all over the wall that marked the place where Zechs had taken down the Sleeper. // The man looks pissed as hell about something and … confused? // “What is going on here? Have you people not already done enough? Get out of my Medical Centre and allow us to work. We are healers, not soldiers!” “You've got balls, Broadham, I'll give you that.” he whispered. He had to give the surgeon his due. The man seemed unphased by the glare that turned to him and he wondered when the last time was that someone had had the audacity to speak to Simpson in such a manner. Giles watched, straining every fibre of his being to hear the conversation taking place down the hallway. The nursing staff looked as though they had relaxed with the appearance of the surgeon though Giles was quick to note that none had moved closer to Simpson nor had any of them made a move to continue with their work. “You are?” Simpson did not sound amused as he glared at the man striding toward him. “My name is Charles Broadham and I am Senior Surgeon of the medical unit. I happen to be in charge here at this time. Now who are you?” There was not a hint of submissiveness in the surgeon's tone as he stopped near the gurney, placing himself between his people and the agents. “Commander Patrick Simpson, Task Force Commander, ESUN Security Agency. What happened here?” Simpson inclined his head toward the body as his eyes raked the blood smear on the wall. “What happened here? Murder, Commander Simpson. That is what happened. Cold-blooded murder.” He spaced each of the last three words out, emphasizing them with little breaths. “Who died and when?” Simpson focused his attention on the Surgeon. Broadham seemed to puff up with rage. Even to the rear view that Giles was forced to witness the events through he could see that swelling of the man's shape and the lift of his shoulders. He could just imagine the look on the man's face. “Most of my bloody patients were butchered in their beds and considerable numbers of my staff along with them, that is who has died! With you bloody psychos running around what more can we expect? I suppose you have butchered more out there, in the dome? Do I even prep for casualties or do I just have to commandeer the meat freezer for an additional morgue?” Giles pursed his lips, his eyebrows arched up almost to his hairline and he resisted the urge to whistle. He would not have been in the least bit surprised to see Patrick Simpson deck the surgeon if not pull a gun on him after that tirade. He tensed, expecting the worst but the ESUN agent merely glared at the man and flicked a finger at the corpse on the trolley. “Is that the killer?” “No. A victim. One of seven we have found to date in the centre. To be precise, in the first three rooms along this hallway.” He wished that the mirror was larger and he could see more but the man's voice sounded genuinely concerned. “You have two of my people in your care. Two women. They were sedated when last I was here.” Broadham seemed to consider that and glanced at the cluster of nurses behind him who shrugged but not until the man had already turned back to the Agent. “That would be when?” “A couple of hours ago. All seemed quiet enough when I was last here.” //Of course it would have been quiet, you git. They were all in surgery and the psycho was Christ knows where at that time. How many more corpses are littered through the base? // Giles shook his head slowly, wishing he dared open the door wider. He wanted a decent view of what was happening down there. “Two of your people? Do you know what rooms they were in? At this stage we have not checked all of the wards. We are doing the best that we can but I am missing staff.” “Giles? What is happening?” Zechs' whisper broke his concentration and he slipped the door closed a little and turned, looking over at where the blonde was leaning on the bed. He looked to be holding together reasonably well for the moment but he was too pale, almost as pale as his hair and the fingers of the hand he gripped the foot rail with looked to be bloodless. “Broadham has Simpson talking at the end of the hallway. He says that he has two people in the hospital and wants to know if they are casualties of what happened here.” He did not expect to see the blonde lose even more colour. “Shit.” Zechs frowned, glaring down at his hands. “It is possible. I never … If they were given a change of clothes... The Sleeper may not have known that the women were ESUN. He just might have taken them down thinking them terra formers.” Giles exhaled softly and shook his head. There was nothing that they could do at this time and if those women were dead then there was nothing they could do at all. The killer was dead and he only prayed that there was only the one but visions of that missing knife haunted him. Turning his gaze back to the door again he eased it open, straining to hear the conversation taking place outside. He angled the mirror again to check on the events taking place at the far end of the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. No one had moved in the few seconds he had been speaking to Zechs and they were not in danger of imminent discovery. “…not yet searched those wards, I believe. I have staff doing a room by room search to determine the casualty count so if you would care to make your way to the nurses lounge …” Broadham slumped a little then drew himself up once again. “No, on second thoughts that will not do. You can not go there. We have not removed the corpses from the lounge as yet. My office, then, Commander Simpson, might be best. My staff will be thorough I assure you …” Simpson slashed a hand impatiently to interrupt the man. “No doubt they will be thorough, Mr. Broadham, but I do not have time to waste on waiting for your people to get around to searching for my people. I have a great deal to do and I know where my people are. It will be faster if I go and check myself.” Simpson pushed himself past the surgeon before the man could voice a protest and began to stride down the hallway, his companion following quickly. Eyes widening in alarm Giles slipped the mirror quickly back into the room and eased the door shut, spinning around to face Zechs. “Simpson's on his way up the hallway. I don't think he saw me but he might have.” Zechs drew a deeper breath and began scraping the bits and pieces on the bed back into the pouches of the belt. “He has no cause to recognize you, does he?” Giles hesitated but on reflection he could not think of anytime that he, a lowly Leo pilot would have been in the man's sight. “I doubt it.” “Then it is likely that he might mistake you for one of the medical staff if he walked into the room now, if not for that flight suit. That could be useful. However we had best get this little drama moving. Get over here. We may not have much time.”
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