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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"
Chapter 145 2nd March AC 198 Colony L1 - 0025 B [La Grange point 1. Serial number 0025 B ] Time: 05:45 [approx Sanc time 04:35] Trowa ** Running. Endless running through the halls, panting breath, ignoring the stitch in his side, legs straining, thighs burning. Echoes of his pounding feet against the polished floors rebounding back on him, filling his ears with sound. He had been running so long. Running not away from some unnamed terror but running toward something he knew he needed to reach. Something … there was something coming … some intangible ‘thing’ that he could not place a name to but it was coming closer and he had to reach it. It was going to be bad. It was something that he had to … he needed … to stop or … Or … Something that needed to be stopped or … Or … people would … die. ——————————————— Endless hallways, stretching forever before him, corners curving and smoothing out into a long and endless hallway that vanished into the far reaching darkness. Hallways filled with light but vanishing into the darkness and through it all he ran and ran. It was a race. He was slow. Too slow. He needed to run faster. Faster. He felt that his head must fall from his shoulders with every pounding step he took. The pain blurred his vision, drowned out sound other than those pounding steps in the endless hallways through which he ran. Ignore the pain, ignore the sound, ignore the ache in every bone in his body. He had to run. He was not alone in the nightmare of running. Around him others ran in grim faced determination. No one laughed, no one cried, no one spoke unless it was to give curt instruction. Over the combined thunder of their footsteps he could hear the roaring of the flames that ensured his feet flew despite the pain and the breathlessness that threatened to send him into black oblivion. The hallways were darkening, filling with the black smoke. Somewhere near there must be flames, naked and bright in the night and all he could think of was that he was thankful that the colony had so recently had it’s nightly soaking. If the colony had not been the recent recipient of the deluge technology then the threat of the fire would have been more serious than it was. The drainage systems were excellent but still water tended to linger in the streets and in the nooks and crannies of the buildings and this night that would be a blessing. The fire could not acquired so strong a foot hold as it might have done and the flames would not take more than a building or two before they would be able to get it under control. This fire might have threatened more than the Preventers it had been aimed at. The fire might have threatened the survival of everyone on the colony. //Some one wanted that body destroyed very badly indeed.// ————————————— He gasped for air, dragging cool clean air into starving lungs, coughing and hacking to clear his lungs of a pollutant that did not exist. Struggling to breathe he bolted upright his hands reaching instinctively for the knives tucked under his pillow, bare chest glistening with the sweat that rolled over his body. "What …?" His labored breathing slowly coming under control he braced himself against the mattress, fingers locked in the sheets. He might have thought himself recently come from a marathon so badly was he winded and exhaustion weighted him down, pulled at his arms and legs. He crawled from the disarrayed bed, every muscle trembling with fatigue and his lungs still seeking more air, still laboring under the illusion that he had been breathing smoke. Smoke? Memory blazed, offering fleeting vision of endless hallways full of running people and billowing dark smoke. He looked about him, wild eyed and body tensing sniffing for smoke and expecting to find roaring flames and expecting too to feel the raw agony of his flesh burning beneath hungry devouring flame. "Fire? I don’t …" The roar of the explosion and the resulting shock wave of the blast threw him from his unsteady feet and tumbled him across the room as though he was nothing more than a child’s rag doll. The momentum of the blast dumped him against the far wall of the room and it seemed that he could hear the screams of people running for their lives from falling debris and the all enveloping wall of smothering, burning flame. —————————————————— Flames dancing, burning, killing … "Quatre!" He trembled as he came awake, panting for breath, sweat beading across his brow. He looked wildly about the darkened room even as his hands searched the bed beside him, seeking the soft touch of a body as his mind sought the unique comfort and warmth of the mind that made the world a place he could understand since first he had found the reassurance. Quatre who made every day unique and a pleasure to experience. The bed was empty. The ghostly strains of a violin whispered through the air, lingering, teasing at the edge of his awareness. Soft and gentle caress of sound that offered comfort. —————————————————— He stood over the gurney with the pathologist in his plastic green scrubs beside him and the man insisted on talking. Where was he? How had he come here? Who lay beneath the shroud and why was he present to witness this moment? Looking about him he was more than a little surprised to recognize the laboratory. He was in the forensic pathologists morgue in the Preventer building on L1 and that recognition did not seem to help his confusion much. Everything still seemed strange, almost otherworldly and he almost expected to wake at any moment and find himself to be in truth within his solitary bed. "Are you ready to identify the body, Agent Chameleon?" //Identify the body? Why would I need to identify … The boy in the alley. But why would I be needed to identify him? I don’t know who he was.// His eyes tracked to the shroud and for some reason a clawing tendril of fear found its way into his gut. He did not want to pull back that shroud. He did not want to see what lay beneath it. "Of course, though why you want me to identify the boy I don’t know. I found the body in an ally, I don’t know who he is." The pathologist grinned a stupid grin, a strange expression but he had found over the years that too many of those who dealt with the dead developed a unique and often warped sense of humor. "You are listed as the next of kin." The man waved at the gurney. "Next of kin?" there was something horribly wrong about the entire scene, not the least of which was the tremble that began in the floor. Around him the building shook, trembling on its foundations and with a roar the near wall blew inward, flames and shrapnel shooting around the room. He threw himself to the ground during the initial blast and clambered to his feet as quickly as he dared and stared at the ruin and the flames. "Hurry! We need to get out of here." Curiously the pathologist ignored the conflagration seemingly unable to even see the wall of flames building around them and reached for the sheet covering the body. "Are you mad man?! Get out of there before you die!" His feet seemed glued to the spot but he gripped the pathologist’s arm and pulled at him, trying to get him moving in the direction of the door, their only escape. The flames were encircling them quickly and soon their escape route would be cut off. The explosion had taken out the side of the building and the floor was sagging, coming close to collapsing as the damaged lower level supports began to fail. He could see the flames dancing and eating their way into the ceiling and threatening to cover them from above and he knew that there would be a collapse there before too long. "Get out! Get away from here or you’ll end up on someone else's slab!" If the floor did not take them down then the ceiling would collapse and crush them. Why was the fool fighting him? "All in good time, young man. All in good time. We have an identification to perform before anything else and then I can inform you of my results concerning the cause of death. A most interesting individual, this one. Most interesting. Come now, the identification." He flinched back as a section of the ceiling gave way, crashing down amid a shower of ruined plaster, dancing flames and electrical wiring. "You’ll roast! We have to go!" He edged back from the advancing wall of flame convincing his feet to move if only at a shuffling stumble but the pathologist ignored the fire storm beginning to rage around them and with a grip like steel fastened a hold on his arm. He fought against the hold, trying to drag the man away from the oncoming conflagration but it was he who was dragged and it was toward the gurney and not to safety. With a flourish the pathologist drew the sheet from the body. "You recognize him, of course?" He snarled, intending to tear into the idiot for getting them both killed but his eyes instinctively dropped to the slab and his breath froze in his lungs and his blood stopped in his veins. Quatre grinned at him from the slab and waved his fingers at him. He was naked as the day he was born and there was a knife blade protruding from a wound to his heart. "Hey Tro. Busy night?" ——————————————- "No!" He heaved within the bedding, gasping and clawing at the sheet that appeared to be determined to strangle him. He was sobbing in denial and his bedding was wet with the sweat of the horror that settled on him. "No." More gently this time as reality began to settle around him and the strangeness of the dream drifted away, leaving him breathless but aware that it was only a dream. Around him the room was silent the stillness of the night marking the hour as early in the dawning. The darkness of night was broken by the faint red glow of the alert light above the door and it lent the sparse furnishings of the borrowed room a bloody sheen that sent shudders down his spine. Trembling from reaction he fought himself to a sitting position and leaned his back against the headboard, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw and just looked around him. The bed, the single chair and small table that served as a desk containing his laptop and a comlink. The two doors, one leading to a small bathroom and the other out into the hall and on the floor the low pile dark blue carpet that was standard through out the building. Yes, it all confirmed that he lay on the bed in the room assigned to him in the single men’s quarters of the Preventers building. He was on L1 and waiting for the new day to learn if he must delay his departure to investigate the death of that boy in the alley. He knew where he was and he knew why he was here. "Quatre." a whisper in the darkness and uttered purely to confirm to himself that he was awake and that he was alone. His hand sought out the bed feeling quickly to make certain that there was no second body sharing the space with him and he was at once relieved and disappointed to discover that it was so. Had Quatre had been there to surround him with his unique scent and touch then the warped nightmares would not have been so bad. Had Quatre had been there, warm flesh and solid muscles under his hands then he would be locked in those warm arms now and comforted. Quatre would be murmuring soft comfort, touching him and letting him know that it was all just a dream and he need not fear it. If Quatre was there he would not be sitting here with a trembling deep in his gut that warned him that everything was wrong. "Dream. Just a dream." It was a whisper designed to test out the theory. If it rang true then he could relax but if the words sounded hollow he knew that he was in trouble. He shuddered. Bare feet found the floor and he was across the room and drawing his uniform from the small wardrobe, pulling on his clothing with all speed. He had had these warped dreams before and on each and every occasion he had them it meant trouble. He knew now that there was trouble brewing somewhere in the night and he needed to find it. Stop it. While he could become all too easily lost in the impossible inconsistencies of the dreams Quatre seemed to have developed an unfailing sense of which dreams were nightmares and which dreams were this other thing that frightened him. It gave him warning but it also made him feel that he was the harbinger of death. "It’s Duo who calls himself the God of Death. Not me." Always there was death after such a dream. Always. He was shaking with reaction and he was not ashamed. Quatre had taught him not to be ashamed of the fear that followed the dreams or the contents of the dream. Always there was fire in the dreams that were warnings of disaster to come. Always there was a wild storm of fire that would kill him and others around him and ever since he had found in Quatre the balm to his personal terrors and the key to a loving heart Quatre had begun to feature in the terror. Always it was Quatre who was consumed in the flames and always it was Quatre who dragged him out of the night sweats repeating over and over again that he was alive and it was not him and they were together. And he loved him. Except Quatre was not here this time. Shaking he stumbled into the bathroom to the small sink and poured water for himself, sipping at the bland almost metallic flavored liquid. The colony water was always honest about its source. It always tasted processed, always reminded you that it was recycled, always reminded you that you were on an artificial world and that you needed to beware. Here the water reminded you that you were foreign matter within the vastness of space and that death could come with no warning and if you were careless. Some careless action from you or another might result in the mass destruction of the colony. Fire. It was always fire that he dreamed, fire that haunted him, fire that exploded into his dreams with destruction and death in its wake. It was always fire and why had fire come to visit with him tonight? Why now did he dream of dancing flames and mad pathologists and … running in hallways that never ended? Had that been a part of the dream? Yes, yes, he was sure he had been running in endless halls and that there had been others who had run with him. He rolled his wrist, checking the time and scowled. It was not all that long since he had found his borrowed bed and he could have wished for more than a couple of hours of sleep disturbed by dreams of fire, death and destruction. // He never even reminded me of Quat. // The thought took him by surprise and brought back in vivid detail the boy lying in the alley. The murdered boy who might or not be a link to the former Romefeller and their illicit laboratories. Former Romefeller? They were still out there, in hiding and not so publicly active as they had been for fear of their lives, but they were there. What mad dreams were they dreaming to create the disturbing laboratories of which he had read in the Preventer report ? That boy in the alley had looked nothing like Quatre so why had it been Quatre he had envisioned lying on that slab, delightfully naked but disturbingly dead? Dead but waving at him and even smiling that endearing, captivating smile that was reserved just for him? "Madness." He splashed cold water over his face, hunching over the sink and wishing it was large enough for him to dunk his head under the running tap. He was tired but if he returned to bed he knew only too well what would happen. He would return again to the nightmare, to the dreams of fire. He had had enough of that for one night. //I don’t even know why it is that I always dream of fire. Quat wondered if perhaps somewhere in my past, when I was very young, if I might not have escaped a fire storm. I can’t remember, but there has to be a reason why I always see the flames and why I always see death in them. I suppose it is possible that somewhere in the past I did run from fire. It might be that I could be mixing a faint memory into something else. What ever that ‘something else’ is I wish it would stop.// * "I felt something from you while you were dreaming … something I have never felt before. Not from you. It was … disturbing." * Quatre had held him while he had trembled in the aftermath of just such a dream soon after they had admitted that they could not live apart. The comfort those arms had offered and that quiet voice had been a balm to the raw terror. He really needed to get a grip on himself. "It’s no more disturbing for you than it was for me, Quat." He straightened from the sink rubbing at his forehead and the pressing ache of the headache that always came to him after the dreams. //Damn. I had a headache before I went to bed but now it’s worse. I think I remember having a headache in one of the dreams. Yes, I’m sure I did. I need you, Quat. I want to come to you but Une has me on this stupid job and …// "I want you." The last was a soft whisper, almost a whimper in protest to existing without the other half of his being. That was how deeply Quatre belonged with him. They were two halves of a whole and he was missing his other half. Earth was such a long way away and he would catch an Earth bound shuttle if he could and seek out his lover and beg him to never permit them to be parted again. When had he allowed himself to become so dependant on Quatre? When had he changed so much from the solitary mercenary who needed no one and trusted no one other than himself? Something thudded beyond the room and instantly alert he spun, slinking out of the bathroom a part of the deep shadows and sliding across the bedroom to gather in hand the knife that he always placed under his pillow. He was tense, a coil of killing energy waiting to be released and around him the night was still and quiet. Emerald green eyes narrowed as he waited but the noise did not repeat and the headache thundered to a higher level and in his hand the knife trembled. He tensed his muscles, bringing the knife under control and cursed himself for letting the dream throw him off. This was getting him nowhere. He eased up to the door the knife still at the ready and pressed his ear to the wooden panel and listened. Silence. His own suddenly ragged breathing was the only sound he could hear and the thundering of his heart that mirrored the pounding within his head. His eyes flicked to the window where the red light of the alert flashed in an impossible reflection and he wondered that he had not noticed it before. The alert light above the door was flashing and he should be out there in the building finding out what the emergency was. Why were the lights working but the alert siren silent? Why could he see the alert light reflected in a window that could not catch the reflection of the door at any time? A soft thud came from beyond the door and was followed by something that might have been a dragging sound. With gritted teeth he forced the headache from his attention and focused himself, flinging the door open with the knife poised and ready to throw at the slightest indication of a threat. Light flooded the room. He flinched from the brightness of it, hesitating for an instant and out of the light a shape materialized. The rocket launcher perched on his shoulder was aimed at Trowa and he was grinning, a horrible manic grin full of madness and blood lust. There was a skull, a deaths head tattooed on the back of the wrist of the hand poised over the trigger and clearly visible to the wide-eyed Preventer who watched as the man winked at him. "Can’t give away any information, you understand. You should have walked away." He spoke with Quatre’s voice and pressed the launch trigger. "No witnesses." Trowa screamed as the fireball enveloped him. ** ————————————— "Fuck!" He was on the floor, crawling and scrambling for his life and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. The room was dark, the window with its plain dark blue curtains was almost lost in the deep darkness, only the barest suggestion of light from the lower lights of the building opposite showing it against the night. The low level of light suggested the time to be very early in the colony’s day rotation. His back ached with a sharp pain that informed him he had pulled something in his tumble from the bed. He had no idea how he came to be grovelling on the floor but with the flash of a memory of flames he curled into himself ducking his head into his arms protection and waiting for the burning hell to envelope him. Nothing happened. "Quatre. Where are you? I need you Quat." The whispered litany was repeated over and over, soft whispers fed by desperate fear until it dawned on him that there was no fireball eating him alive. Panting he dared to peek from between his arms, his body trembling in reaction to the adrenaline surge. There was no alert light bathing the windows in red stains and to his searching gaze the light over the door was dark. There was no death waiting for him if he let go of the litany. There was no rocket wielding madman standing in the doorway laughing at him in Quatre’s voice and telling him he should have walked away. "God. Quatre, I need you." A soft and final whisper he offered up to the darkness with heartfelt longing. "I miss you." If Quatre was with him there would be no dreams to send him to the floor in whimpering fear. He scrubbed at his bristled face with trembling hands. He should be past this. He should have gotten past this by now but it returned again and again when he least expected it. At first he had been afraid to sleep with Quatre and reveal to his soul mate the terrors he shared his bed with. He should have known that Quatre would understand him and that Quatre had his own nightmares. That first time he had woken in strong and warm arms and to the quiet voice speaking a litany of words that held no meaning. Every senseless word was an expression of the love his soul mate held for him and when Quatre had realized that he was awake and aware the senseless words had become words of comfort and love. They had talked and they had comforted each other and Quatre had told him of the horrors of Zero and the dreams it still gave him and together they had come to realize that they could help each other. He should have known that Quatre had his own night terrors and would understand but he had not initially understood the depth of the bonds binding them and because of that he had hurt them both by resisting the very real ties that bound them. He had been a fool but that was then, in the alone time and this was now when he was not solitary Trowa but half of a whole that was a warmth he craved. "Quatre. I wish you were here." It was his last concession to himself. Taking a deep breath he uncurled and crawled to the bed pulling himself up to rest his back against its solid frame and stare into the darkness. The deeper darkness of the room and that lighter darkness that marked the window, the framing curtains drawn back to admit the low colony lights. He was on L1, in the 0025 B colony of the cluster and staying in the Preventers single men’s hostel. And he was alone. It was night but the light level from that window suggested pre-dawn and the lights would gradually be lifted for the new working day for the bulk of the colonists to begin. //That sounds right. I am chasing shadows for Une. Chasing someone who sent a warning about a threat to the Vice Foreign Minister and because I am here I stumbled onto a murder.// As he watched the window became just that little more clear in the darkness with the first phase of the colony lighting lifting. He felt the slight tremble of the floor and his heart seemed to leap in his chest before he realized that it was the shuttle train rumbling in the distance, the first of the days commuter traffic. He shuddered at his unthinking panic that that tremble might herald the explosion and the flames but in reality that rumble proved that he was back amid the real world. He had a faint headache pressing at his temples but there was no pounding drum beat in his awareness as he occasionally experienced after one of his nightmare. //A nightmare? Can I really say that was all it was?// The dream had featured the firestorm. All of the dreams that he could recall that had heralded trouble coming his way had featured that flaming destruction. While he preferred to forget the dreams Quatre had begun to investigate his fondness for dreaming about fire despite his protests that they were only nightmares. Much as he wished that to be the truth he knew that Quatre had the right of it and they needed to know why he dreamed. He needed to understand what it was that motivated him to dream of fire, whether it was a remnant of some past terror or if it had some other meaning. Perhaps then he could escape the recurring theme. "I need to be sensible about this and since Quatre is not here to be sensible for me, I have to do it all myself. First, am I awake? Am I really awake or is this going to deteriorate into another dream running amuck?" He was bone weary, tired and desperately wanted to sleep but he knew that he had had all the sleep he was going to be getting for a while. He had his limits and he knew when not to push them and trying to sleep now would guarantee another round of nightmares. Without Quatre to wake him from the worst of the terror he might well linger in the nightmares until someone came pounding on his door seeking to know why he missed some important meeting with the L1 Controller or the meeting he had scheduled with the forensic staff investigating the evidence they had gathered in the alley. He scowled at the thought of the murder scene. That murder had featured in the round of nightmares and that might have significance he should not dismiss. //That featured in the dream. I wonder … Do I need to go to the morgue?// Already the dream was fading and taking with it the small details that might tell him if it was an honest nightmare or that ‘something else’ that occasionally disturbed his sleep. That ‘something else’ that Quatre had first sensed through the delicacy of the empathy he lived with day and night. What he termed nightmares Quatre had begun to suggest might be something more than he had assumed. Where he preferred to forget Quatre sought to determine just what it was that happened in the dreams and equate those events to harsh reality. He blinked, realizing that he was in the bathroom and leaning over the sink. When had he moved from the bedside and off the floor he was uncertain but his face was streaming water and his mouth tasted like vomit. The darkness that surrounded him offered him no comfort nor did the absence of sound in the night. At this level of the Preventer building he was above the street level and the traffic noise and the early morning commuters were unable to disturb the sleepers a fact he was normally thankful for. At this time he was the only transient Preventer at the building and surprisingly the only occupant in the single men’s quarters. L1’s Preventer teams were mostly married men and women who had their own residences and the few single agents were out on assignment. The room seemed abnormally quiet, divorced from the reality of the colony and he was suddenly afraid that he was about to go down into another horror dream. A colony never truly slept and if he listened hard enough he could distinguish the sounds unique to colony society. While the colonists had a day and a night cycle it was a schedule agreed upon by the colony founders and based on the cycle system of the Earth. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the strengthening light of the colony day filling the bedroom but did nothing to quiet the crawling sensation that walked its way up his spine. "Why do I have the feeling that I’m not alone?" The whisper sent another delicate shudder coursing up his spine. Why should he react so to the normality of the sound in a situation that more and more felt far from normal and was yet another indication that he might not have experienced a simple nightmare. Not that any of his nightmares could ever be described as simple. If you live the hard life of a mercenary as he had lived you could not be graced with anything as mundane as simple nightmares. He was beside the chair in the main room and pulling on his trousers before the soft noise in the hallway registered with his active consciousness. A soft and somehow furtive sound where there should be no noise to disturbed him. It was more than enough to see him grasp the knife from under the pillow and slip it into his belt sheathe and strap the second to his left calf. He should be alone on this floor of the building, especially at this hour of the day he noted, glancing at the clock and hearing the next shuttle train rumbling in the distance. Straining to detect any sound that might give him an indication of who it was in the hallway produced nothing but the whisper of the traffic ten floors below him. He eyed his boots for a moment, considering taking the time to put them on but instead opted for the silence of bare feet and ghosted to the door. It was probably nothing, most likely a Preventer agent back from a mission ahead of schedule but that instinct acquired over years living as a mercenary insisted that investigation was required. The handle was cool under his hand and his fingers closed around the knob. He had a strong sense of Quatre standing at his back and prodding him to take action. That crawling between his shoulder blades was becoming unbearable and would not ease nor would the sensation of having a light hand pressed to the small of his back. He could almost feel the eyes of his lover on him and hear that quiet tenor whispering he must not dismiss the nightmare and that he must act. Something was going down this minute and Preventers were at risk, not just himself. Why? Why did he imagine Quatre at his back, prodding him on to slip out of his assigned room and take to the deep shadows that still filled the night dim hall? Why were his eyes inclining immediately toward the emergency stairs leading up to the roof level? Why up there when he could be needed just as easily in the opposite direction and why should anyone bother to take the stairs up anyway? There were elevators. Quatre’s whispered words chilled him. "Because you need to."
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