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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 171 2nd March AC 198 Sanc Stephansbourg The Coachman’s Rest Time: 04:40 Heero On nights he should fall instantly asleep, when he permitted himself to relax, he would drift on the edge of oblivion or lay awake too aware of the world surrounding him to take that longed for tumble. This, of course, had to be one of those nights. His head was throbbing with the kind of ache he had rarely felt since the end of the war. The pain was well known to him, the result of lack of sleep after stress combined with an awareness of action needing to be taken. He had been drifting on the threshold of sleep for some time now. It was a resting mode he had been taught during days he would prefer to forget, a meditation-like state permitting him to rest body and mind and remain alert to the world surrounding him. Keyed trigger factors would rouse him and see him prepared for action in the blink of an eye, handy in wartime. He needed to rest but the questions he needed answers to would give him no peace and body and mind were stretched to the limit and had triggered this state. He would emerge from it able to function if not truly rested and he would have to be content with that. If he did not gain adequate opportunity to sleep within a few days he would crash and crash dramatically. For what seemed like hours, he had caught the restless movements of his roommate. He was prone to nightmares on occasion, leftover haunting images of the war. Now he had proof he was not the only one haunted by his past. Quatre seemed to be getting worse in the last few minutes. At least the restless movements and soft gasps were not the screaming horrors that often brought him from his own bed. In recent months there had been an easing of the night horrors, enough to give him hope he might be recovering and could look forward to more settled sleep periods. There were nights still when his dreams brought him awake with the gun kept under his pillow in hand. //I should not think about a relationship with Relena or anyone else until I learn how to manage those dreams. I’d shoot her before I woke up. I have to be sure she is safe. Safe from danger. Safe from me. // For some reason he had not considered Quatre might have nightmares, which was stupid on his part. His own instances of unpleasant dreams stemmed from incidents during the war and Quatre had been a part of that war. Quatre Raberba Winner was one of the few survivors of the war who had perhaps more experiences to wake screaming over than he himself. Quatre had built Wing Zero after witnessing his father’s betrayal and death and whilst using Zero had caused the destruction of so many lives. He had taken out entire colonies in cold clinical rage. His insanity of the time was not something one as conscience ridden as Quatre would ever forget. //I suppose that could be used as a parallel between Winner and Peacecraft. I wonder just how sane Zechs was after witnessing the fall of Sanc the first time. He seemed stable enough until Relena surrendered it to Romefeller. Although I can’t say with any certainty what I thought was accurate in hindsight. What I knew and accepted as accurate is hanging by a thread. I have to tell Quatre about Romefeller. About their breeding program and show him the files. He would have to understand more of it than I can. // “Love you, Trow.” The breathy whisper sighed on the end of a snap from the lowering fire. Heero’s eyes snapped open and a blush bloomed. Well, maybe all that moaning and shifting in bed was not the result of nightmare after all. Heero didn’t know where to look and burrowed deeper under the eiderdown in an effort to block out the soft moan that came on the wings of the fire’s crackle. It was one thing to think of Quatre having nightmares and another entirely to realize his friend was having an erotic dream about his boyfriend. //I need to get a life. // He pulled the eiderdown in close to him and sought out the place between wakefulness and sleep that offered his body rest. He was not going to get to sleep, much as he longed to fall into that dark welcome oblivion. His mind was too active and the best he could hope for was some meditation to take the edge off. More tossing and turning in the darkness on the other side of the room. He tried not to think about what exactly Quatre would be dreaming about doing with Trowa. The sound of him moving in the bed was suggestive the pace of the dream was picking up and he only hoped Quatre would settle soon. Surely sex did not take so long? A log shifted on the fire and the flame flared a little. Quatre moaned and Heero almost snarled, flinging back the eiderdown and gasping at the chill in the air. The fire was lower than he thought and the cold of the storm was greater than its weak flame could cover. Slipping out of bed Heero made his way to the fire and carefully laid a log on the coals, poking at the lingering fire to incite some activity. Beyond the room he could hear the measured tread of a Preventer on his rounds and the sound was oddly comforting. He was a Preventer, the agent assigned to provide protection to the Vice Foreign Minister. He was not, of course, the only agent but he took her safety personally and he was going to need to make a decision at some time in the future. “No!” Heero sighed and rubbed at his aching eyes. There was nothing sexy about that gasp. He had those nightmares too. Quatre’s dream of his boyfriend had deteriorated from a loving encounter into the realm of nightmare. Perhaps he saw Trowa walking away from him, abandoning him. He had similar dreams about Relena turning aside from his bumbling inept attempts to find something more with her. Perhaps Quatre relived the instance during the war when he thought he had killed his lover under the influence of the Zero System. “No.” He glanced toward the bed. Quatre lay still and the whisper held a softer almost questioning inflection. As though he was asking for reassurance or a confirmation of something, perhaps a lover’s secret. To put more wood on the fire at this time would be to snuff the struggling flame so Heero slipped silently back into bed, bundling himself up in the eiderdown once more. //They know their climate.// He rubbed his cheek against the thick soft pillow and tucked himself down into the bed, sighing in appreciation of the comfort and warmth. “Trowa. S’kay. Mmm here.” He tensed, expecting a renewal of the nightmare but after a few minutes of silence he decided they were to be spared. For the moment Quatre seemed to be quieting, his restless movements settled and his breathing was calm and even. Hopeful he might once more return to some rest Heero settled himself within his warm cocoon and allowed his thoughts to drift as he controlled his breathing, lowering his heart rate in measured stages. While Sanc was not the most hospitable of climates there was nothing lacking in good old-fashioned Sancian hospitality. Considering the hour with which they had descended upon the Inn the food, while simple, was good, the drink had been hot and welcome and the bed was a delight to an aching exhausted body. —————————————————————- “Trowa? Where are you?” The voice was an unwelcome intrusion into the darkness, driving him into awareness. He blinked rather stupidly at the ceiling beam overhead before memory returned. He was in a bedroom at the Couchman’s Rest Inn and he was sharing the room with Quatre. //Not again.// He was just too tired for this. //I was actually asleep. // His head started to hammer at him to return to oblivion but the blonde in the next bed was tossing from side to side and he could hear elevated breathing and soft gasps. Heero rubbed at his eyes, trying to force coherent thought through the lingering tendrils of sleep and beyond the throbbing headache. If there should be danger now he was in trouble. “Quatre?” Perhaps a verbal nudge would take the edge off and gently nudge Quatre to mentally shift gears, sparing them both the nightmare. He had hoped the young man would settle, his focus disturbed enough to remove him from the obviously disturbing dream. In the other bed Quatre shifted restlessly, his head turning on the pillow as though he was seeking something or someone. One hand briefly emerged from the eiderdown as though he was reaching out but slipped back under the cover. “Trowa? Running… why?” He moaned softly into the pillow, rubbing his forehead into the material in a futile effort to shift the throbbing in his head. How much sleep had he managed to get? Not much, his body told him and he was less likely to get any more if he could not quiet the blonde. “You are running? Where are you? Can’t… Can’t feel you…” He had to wonder if love was really worth sleepless nights. Or in this case, a night filled with nightmares about being abandoned by one’s lover. Did he really want a relationship if he would spend his solitary nights worrying he would be left for the comfort of another’s arms? With Relena as his lover there would be plenty of those. //Scratch that. She would not take a lover to begin with. In her position that would be political suicide and she is also Princess of Sanc. There would need to be commitment. Does she want commitment? I don’t know what I want, let alone what she wants.// More moaning and a hand appeared to grope as though to catch a hold of someone passing him. He gripped the eiderdown and growled softly. Nightmares. Maybe Trowa would somehow comfort Quatre when the nightmares came? Yes, that was probably what they did. They would be each other’s support during the night and he knew Trowa had nightmares. He had been unfortunate enough to have heard some of Trowa’s dreams when they were together after his self-destruction of the Wing Gundam. Trowa had had some pretty nasty dreams as he recalled and they often had featured fire. He knew little of the young man’s past other than he had been a mercenary for much of his childhood before becoming involved in Operation Meteor. Something from his past must have triggered the fear of fire for it to feature so much in his unguarded moments. Quatre probably was there to hold Trowa or talk him through the dreams and it went without saying Trowa would return the favour when it was Quatre’s turn to dream. Winner was just as deadly in unguarded moments as any of his former compatriots so if Heero approached him physically he would need to take the greatest of care. Perhaps it was not too late to attempt to talk Winner out of the nightmare and back into a neutral state. Maybe Quatre would listen to sense through the dream disturbing him. //I really don’t want to get out of this nice warm bed. // He rubbed at his face, trying to wake himself up even though he only wanted to give in and curl up. He was not going to get rid of the headache if he could not get some sleep and he was not going to sleep while Quatre rocked around the bed and called out to his lover who was somewhere in the vicinity of the moon to Heero’s knowledge. “You are dreaming, Quatre. Go to sleep. It’s too damn early to get up.” “Trowa?” A sleep-laden whisper and for an instant a piercing blue eye opened but he could tell there was no intelligence in the look. Quatre seemed to still be asleep and he probably had not reacted to his voice at all but to something in his dream. “Tro…” He was tossing from side to side, his body shivering from the way the eiderdown was trembling. “Fire…” Was he imagining this? He was sure he had not seen those lips move to shape the whisper and indeed he was not sure he actually heard a sound it was so quiet. “Why?” The breath of a question and this time he did see the fine lips part slightly and shape the word. Only the stillness of the Inn and a momentary lull in the storm enabled him to catch the whisper. Heero scowled feeling sleep drifting further and further away from his reach with the continued disturbance. It was not fair. When he finally had the opportunity to rest he was lying here listening to the mutterings of someone else’s nightmare. He did not want to know about fire and wonder what Trowa’s link to the flames might be. He simply wanted to sleep, “Running and… fire… everywhere.” //I’ve lived nightmares too often. I know what it’s like. Sometimes you simply have to allow it to run the course. At least he’s quiet. Probably does not even realize he is vocalising.// “Who is it?” He half turned, noting the fire had burned down a little and he must have had somewhere near an hour’s sleep for the small log he had placed on the flame to have burned so much. He did not want to get up but he could not leave it alone. In his past he had woken alone from too many nightmares not to know how this one was sure to develop. He scrubbed at his burning eyes, remembering himself killing Relena in so many ways, fast and slow, bloody and horrible. There were days he saw her death from hands other than his own with himself standing in the background watching, helpless to prevent it. Some of the dreams had been so vivid he found it hard to look at her and not run screaming from the room. He was sure on those days she must see the death in his eyes and know it was her death he saw. It made no difference if she suspected it was her death at his hands or not, it was sometimes too much. //I could not kill her through the war so why do I dream of killing her so often now? I don’t want to kill her. I don’t need to kill her. I… I want to… love her.// He pried himself up in the bed, reaching to turn on the bedside light the better to see his friend who had fallen quiet while he had entertained unpleasant memories of his own nightmares. Quatre was barely visible, having wormed his way down under the eiderdown. The snatches of whispered words and restless movements had eased and he seemed to have settled. “Quatre?” He was careful not to call loud enough to wake the blonde should he have fallen into deeper sleep but loud enough to gain some reaction from him if he still hovered on the edge between nightmare and waking. It was amazing how acute your senses could become when in the throes of nightmare. Was that awareness peculiar to those who had fought in wars? Were soldiers the only ones who reacted so easily to the sound of voices and the suggestion of movement during nightmares? Were they the only ones to react violently, considering every small sound a threat? If Quatre needed him and his touch, not just the sound of his voice, he was going to need to exercise all caution on approaching him. Quatre, like all of the other Gundam Pilots, would have hair trigger reflexes and his conscious mind would take a precious few seconds to catch up with his reflexes. For what seemed like an eternity he waited for Quatre to move, to groan or twitch in the nightmare and he remained still and silent. //Good. He seems to have calmed down. // Heero sighed and slithered down into his warm nest, drawing the eiderdown snugly to him. Maybe he could enjoy the chance to sleep after all. ———————————— “Nyaggghhh!” Heero bolted upright, his hand under the pillow and grasping the butt of his gun before his mind registered the action. There was the sound of a body thrashing and the metal was cool to his hand. His finger was on the trigger and the barrel of the gun aimed across the room at the bed and the body thrashing within its tangled bedding. //What the hell am I doing? // The sound of running feet and the rattle of the doorknob had the gun snapped around at the door and pressure on the trigger before the voice from the other side registered. “Yuy? Mr. Winner? Is everything alright?” “Fuck.” He scrubbed at his face even as he scrambled out of bed, tripping over the eiderdown in his haste to reach the door. He fumbled with the key wishing his head would cease its pounding and his heart did not feel the need to mirror that rapid throbbing. He still had the gun in hand he noted as he opened the door. “It’s alright. Nightmare. I’ll deal with it.” The Preventer in the hallway barely opened his mouth when Quatre’s moan filled the room and Heero nodded sharply and flicked the gun toward the doors down the hallway. “I’ll deal with it. Return to your post.” “Sir.” He was ex-Oz Specials forces Heero recalled and no doubt had his own instances of nightmare. A good man and one who had seemed not to have trouble working with the infamous Gundam Pilots. Closing the door and turning the key to seal them within the room again he pressed his back to the wall and glared across the bedroom. Quatre was clawing at the air, thrashing about as if he fought some invisible enemy. He was whimpering, making inarticulate sounds and growling what might have been curses at his target. He seemed to be trying to reach something hovering in the air above him which only he could see. “Trowa?” There was desperation in his voice and the name of his lover was the only clear word Heero could discern out of the assortment of sounds he was making. This was going to be one of those days, he decided, looking longingly at his bed before he stalked over to stand between the two beds and placed his gun on the pillow. He was shaking, fighting the adrenaline surge in reaction to the rude awakening he had experienced. He might have shot Quatre or the on-duty Preventer agent before his mind caught up with his reflexes and if Quatre kept on like this he would wake the entire Inn. All he wanted to do was get some sleep and here he was woken time and again by the nightmares that seemed even worse than those which haunted him. All Quatre seemed to be doing was calling out to Trowa, trying to reach him through the dream. If this was what having a love interest did to a person he would need to rethink his growing feelings for Relena. The fire was burning lower and the room was chill. Ignoring Quatre for the moment he moved to poke at the coals and carefully place two of the smaller pieces of wood and hoped it would catch. He was not looking forward to freezing while he tried to deal with Quatre and just knowing the fire would be building heat would have to be enough for the moment. With the fire stoked as best he could, the door locked against intrusion and the Preventer guard aware he would be dealing with the matter, it was time to turn to the problem at hand. He had a friend who obviously needed help. “Alright then, Quatre. Let’s see if we can’t get you to wake up without smashing up the Inn.” He made his way to the side of the bed and knelt, careful to remain out of the reach of those flailing arms. In his present condition it was possible Quatre would not recognize his voice and would be likely to strike out without a second thought. He appeared to be deep into the dream or memory and Heero was not of a mind to take chances. “Quatre?” Nothing. No hint of reaction to suggest his voice might have penetrated the depths of his dream. The whimpering continued, unabated, as did the thrashing against the enfolding eiderdown. In fact it might even have gotten worse he mused as Quatre’s fingers curled into claws and pummelled the air. Heero ran a hand through his sleep-mussed mop of hair and wondered if he dared touch the struggling man. “Quatre!” Did his struggles lessen for an instant? Heero was unsure but the fingers had uncurled from their unnatural position and he could only take it to be a good sign. “Trowa?” There was something in Quatre’s voice that disturbed Heero. He leaned a little closer, trying to get a better view of his friend. The side lights did not shed a great deal of illumination and Quatre was so wrapped up in the bedding it was difficult to see details. “Quatre? Wake up! You are dreaming!” A more vigorous bout of thrashing against the bedding resulted and the sounds he was making now suggested growing distress. It sounded to Heero like the blonde was having difficulty breathing, as though he was forcing air into his lungs and there were little choking sounds mixed with the whimpers. He cursed at the continued thrashing that forced him to remain at bay, using some choice expletives he had overheard from soldiers during the war and refined in his own unique manner. Duo had once observed he could swear in as many as half a dozen languages and add his own unique flavour to the vocabulary. Was he not getting through to Quatre at all? He could define no actual words coming from Quatre now, just sounds of distress. Inarticulate and each sound wrenched at something within him, a part of him he had never experienced before. He recognized it for all it was unfamiliar to him and he could not say he found the feeling of helplessness was one he welcomed. “Neyagghhhh! The scream set him back on his heels and he only hoped they had not awoken any of the guests. He was confident the Preventer Guards would not disturb him, knowing him to be trying to wake Quatre, and since those on duty in the hall were ex-military he had no doubt they knew enough to give him room. He would have to try something desperate if he could not wake the man soon or they would have the guests up and about and Relena needed sleep. “I don’t know how to reach you Quatre! I don’t know how to reach past whatever it is making you dream like this.” He felt helpless, useless and it was not a good feeling to experience. This was beyond his expertise and things outside of his field of knowledge frightened him. He had a broad comfort zone but emotions were still new to him and nightmares were intensely private things. He did not like others knowing about his night horrors and suspected Quatre would be one to keep nightmares private. This situation frightened him and how many people would laugh at the idea of the Perfect Soldier being frightened? There were so few people in the ESUN who knew him for what he truly was. So few could look through the thin veneer at the persona beneath. He had been terrified during the war. Terrified of so many situations beyond his experience, as only a fifteen-year-old could be thrown into a situation that made adults cringe. That was why he and the others had been chosen to be Pilots, he was sure. Because they considered themselves to be always right and invincible and did not know enough to be truly afraid. Well, he had been afraid, terrified, but he had not known enough to run. He had been conditioned by people who had no heart for the individual and who saw only their plan and a means to achieve it. The conditioning given to him since he had been a child had been sufficient to get him past the fear by the simple expedient called necessity. He had been reconditioned when their training had failed and he would do anything to see himself spared a return to that training. Beneath the onslaught of everyday life away from the necessities of war, and thanks to sparkling blue eyes, the conditioning was slowly breaking down. He was not sorry to see it break and even under its influence he would be at a loss as to how to deal with this situation. What was he to do? How could he help? “Fire…” the whisper ended in a choking cough. A word he recognized, a whisper hoarse with fear and, he suspected, helplessness. It was hard for him to recognize the emotion. Quatre was tying himself up into a bigger knot with the bedding and that restriction seemed to be panicking him. “Wall… Build… wall.” He was having difficulty breathing. The panting was growing worse, more obvious and there were little gasps and choking sounds and Quatre’s hand began to flail about before him, as though he was trying to push something away from him. He had managed to lock one hand in the tangle of quilt and sheet and that distressed him more, inciting a new round of tossing and turning. Heero snarled softly. He did not want to touch Quatre while he was like this but if he could not get through to him any other way he was going to have to hit him. That would set him off worse than ever though the screaming would likely stop in favour of unthinking killing rage. Most of the Earth Sphere thought of Quatre as a business man who dabbled in politics and was brilliant for his age. He knew Quatre the warrior better than he knew Winner the businessman. If he woke up Quatre the killer and did not contain him quickly enough, people could get hurt. “Wall… No!... Rebuild the walls…” Gasping and choking whispers amidst whimpering inarticulate sounds of distress. “Quatre! You are just tied up in the blanket! Wake up! It’s jut a dream.” What was he to do? He did not want to instigate an incident where civilians might get hurt. Quatre would accept being injured if it was necessary to contain him from hurting others but Heero was reluctant to take that step. Quatre seemed not to have heard his entreaties and was still thrashing around in the bed, whimpering and calling out wordless sounds of distress. At least at this moment his cries were somewhat subdued. Exactly what was it he was dreaming about? He had been calling out to Trowa and there were recurring cries of ‘fire’ and he had been urging someone to run or commenting on someone running. //Fire? Trowa and fire? Running? // He could only hope it was not Quatre in the nightmare who had set the fire. He recalled only too vividly one instance of nightmare when he dreamed he had locked Relena in a room at St Gabriel’s Institute and set fire to the building. His own maniacal laughter had woken him, but that had been during the war and he had accounted her a threat to his mission. He still shuddered at the memory of her screams as the building had collapsed in the inferno. He had never consciously wanted to kill her. Not really. He had thought he needed to kill her to stop her interference at first, she had after all known too much. Something deep down inside of him had always stayed his hand. Something he had not understood then and did not claim to understand now. Why would Quatre dream of Trowa and fire? He had thought their relationship to be more than stable and they were happy together. He was sure he must have misunderstood, misinterpreted the snippets of the nightmare he had been able to glean. “You are dreaming.” He tried to project assurance at his partner, the firm conviction he was sure was needed to penetrate the nightmare. His efforts hardly seemed to reassure Quatre as the panting grew more pronounced and his cries grew quieter though no less intense or articulate. Quatre seemed to be failing, coughing more, and his words came in strangled whispers. His trapped hand was still now though his free hand flailed randomly and his eyes were open though unseeing of the room about them. “What do I do?” he whispered and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to think of anything his past experience would offer in the way of assistance. They all suffered from nightmares from time to time and they had all learned to deal with their own experiences but to deal with another’s… This seemed somehow to be worse than any nightmare he had experienced and he had the distinct impression he was missing something important. Something that might make sense of the whole thing. “Precognition.” Quatre gasped, his voice raw. It came out more as a strangled whisper and he began to cough in hacking rasping distress. Heero recoiled. //Precognition?! What the hell? // He could only stare as the coughing fit wound down. //He sounds hoarse and while I know its because of the nightmare it almost sounds like he is coughing out smoke. I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream that realistic before.// Quatre had renewed his thrashing against his restraints and managed to work his trapped hand free. He was working himself up into a frenzy and Heero feared he would do himself injury if he could not be contained. The quilt and sheet enfolding him was actually protecting both Quatre and himself from injury even as it worked him up into greater and greater distress. //Do I try to work him out of the restraints without setting him off into a worse frenzy or do I try to tangle him more to keep some control of him? Either way I have to get dangerously close to him.// Perhaps one more try to get him to listen before he had to place himself close enough to make physical retaliation a real danger. “Quatre! It’s Heero. It’s Heero! Will you listen to me?” A particularly violent bout of thrashing served to almost wrap the sheet around Quatre’s neck and Heero sighed ducking his head away from the sight. He had never had such violent nightmares as this. There was no help for it, he had to interfere and he could only hope Quatre would prove not to be so violent as Trowa would have been or he himself. Perhaps if he took advantage of the bedding and used it to further entrap his friend it would contain the violent reprisal he was sure would be forthcoming. Quatre was strong but he was not as strong as Heero knew himself to be and that was to his advantage. If he could contain Quatre and force him awake using his strength to shake the stuffing out of the man he was sure Quatre would forgive the rough handling. Anyone would have to thank him for waking them from such a nightmare. //Well, here goes. If he gets loose I’ll have no choice other than to call in the other agents to help me contain him and then someone will get hurt. Quatre would not want that. // Turning to his own bed he grasped the eiderdown and with a deep breath threw it over the thrashing body and threw himself after it. He wrapped the eiderdown as best he could using the more violent movements to tuck it beneath Quatre’s struggling form. He expected Quatre to shout or scream but no sound except gasping and choking emerged from beneath the blanket and he scrambled to uncover his friends face afraid he might be suffocating. He spread himself over the heaving body, using his own weight to his advantage and straddling the struggling man. He gripped Quatre’s shoulders and used his legs to give him greater purchase on the body as he hooked his fingers into the broad shoulders. What surprised him was the chill emanating from the struggling man. With the violence of his movements and the eiderdown enfolding him he had expected Quatre to be hot, at the very least warm. //He feels so cold.// Heero decided it was as well he had used the eiderdown as it would serve not only as a restraint but to warm him against the seeming unnatural chill. //Why does he feel so cold? I know it’s cold but this just seems wrong. His eyes… opening. Quatre? You can’t see me, can you? Damn, what is going on?// Unseeing blue eyes stared up at him and the shaking was growing worse, testing his strength to restrain. The teeth of the other man were clenched tight together and an inarticulate growl came from deep in his chest. “Quatre?” He hissed the name and placed in it all the force he could muster, demanding he pay attention and wake. There was not even a flicker in those blue eyes, no hint of recognition in either eyes or growl. He was growing desperate and though it was probably a bad idea he began to shake Quatre. There was no doubt a dozen or more psychological reasons against shaking a man in this condition but Heero was dealing with something he had no knowledge of. He was becoming desperate and had only his own dreams to go on. Dreams so bad he would have given anything for someone to shake the hell out of him and bring him back to reality. “Will you wake up!” he hissed, aware if he shouted as he wished to he would wake the entire Inn with the force of his voice. He needed to do this quietly and there was no other options open to him. If he knocked the man unconscious he might trap him in this nightmare and that would be unforgivable. He shook Quatre with growing violence, aware he was losing his own control and it was fear making him so violent. “It’s Heero. Wake up!” Shaking and shaking and desperation was giving way to panic. He must not panic. He must retain control and he sucked in deep steadying breaths, easing the force of his grip, aware Quatre would have bruises to remember this night by. Was it his imagination Quatre’s struggles were easing? His breathing seemed to be more even, the rasp in his throat certainly was less. “Because you need to.” //What?// There was something recognizable dawning in the eyes gazing up at him. While he thought he still was not recognized he suspected there was a hint of something very like desperation. Was he witnessing growing desperation? The emotion in those eyes grew stronger as he watched and he could feel a sense of urgency growing apace. Something needed to break… “You must steady yourself.” Quatre’s voice came in a husky whisper, raw from his shouts and screams but it was no longer filled with rage or desperation. It was sensible, full of reason and held an outpouring of assurance so unlike the earlier stages of the nightmare. It was the voice he equated with Quatre Winner. “You need to find the fire.” “Quatre?” Heero stopped shaking him, though he retained his hold and a firm grip on his shoulders. The body restrained under his was quiet now, stretched out over the bed and panting softly. There was no hint of fight in Quatre and the eyes blinking up at him surrounded by pale golden lashes were sane. Those lashes closed over bright blue eyes in a slow blink. Once. Twice. He was tense and alert but offering no violence and was willing to wait. Blue eyes looked up at him with unmistakable recognition and he knew with certainty for the first time since he had woken to the scream that Quatre could see him. The nightmare was over and sanity prevailed. “Heero.” A whisper, husky and more of a croak. Very unlike the smooth tones he was familiar with. “You don’t make a habit of having nightmares, do you?” t.b.c. Karina Robertson 2006
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