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"Friends "Written By: Karina
Series: Friends Pairings: 2+6 Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence. Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the characters. That’s the way it is. Warnings: Not a death fic despite how it starts.
Aussie spelling and unbetaed. Summary: When Milliardo Peacecraft is abducted
and left to die a solitary death Duo Maxwell decides to take a hand
in the proceedings.
Chapter 2 //I have to be fucking crazy.// They had looked at him as though he had three green scaled heads and asked them to clean his fangs for him. He could, after fighting the stick for so long, understand their look. He had to be crazy to dare the air currents in the back hills. His shoulders ached, his hands screamed at him for relief and his eyes were strained from peering through the darkness and snow. Still he clung to the stick and kept the chopper in the air. Why? He could no more answer now than when they asked it. It was not just his friends who had asked him what he thought he was doing. * “Looking to be a glory jockey yet again, Maxwell?/” * It was not that. Contrary to popular belief he was not out for glory but to save a man’s life. If the tip off was accurate there was a man nearby who deserved more than to die in the middle of nowhere. Christ, Marquise had been a soldier, one of the best. An elite and, except for those brief days of apparent insanity, he had had honour. In the war everyone had had moments of insanity, though admittedly Marquise’s mad moment had topped everyone else’s. * “You don’t even know the man, Maxwell. What do you think you can accomplish other than to plaster yourself all over the countryside? He is not worth your life. Wait for the storm to abate.” * He should have. It was only common sense and he admitted taking off into this storm was rank stupidity. He really should have waited for the storm to pass but something, some voice buried deep inside, would not shut up. It had nagged at him to get off his duff and get in a chopper and go get the man. It was the same voice that urged him even now, denying him permission to land and wait out the worst of the weather. * “Why do you want to go in there, into that blizzard, and get yourself killed?” * Heero had glared out of the window of the hotel room they had been meeting in when the tip off had come in. Watching the clouds building up over the distant mountains. The same mountains the coordinates in the email claimed Milliardo Peacecraft was confined within. * “If he is up in the foothills he will have to wait for the storm to abate.” * How could he have explained to them what he could not explain to himself? He had ‘that’ feeling and he had learned long ago not to ignore it. No one seemed in a hurry to find the victim. Peacecraft appeared to be unpopular. Rather an understatement actually. His self appointed rescue mission was probably going to get him killed, but such instances had happened before. He had taken on seemingly impossible missions and thought it would kill him to answer the unspoken voice. Despite the odds he was alive to this day… though maybe not for much longer. //Make up your mind, Maxwell. Are you going to live or die today?// He would be the one who needed rescuing the way things were going. At least it was not likely to be Marquise doing the rescuing. That would be just plain embarrassing. His friends could call him all kinds of fool if they wanted to, but he was determined to get this rescue done. It was Quatre who had decided the issue. Chang had called him an idiot and refused to sign out a Preventer chopper, citing the airfield was shut down because of the incoming blizzard. He was not about to risk a multi million credit piece of equipment because he could not wait out a storm. * “Can’t you tell a hoax when you see one?” * Heero had muttered ‘baka’ and stalked out of the room, refusing to listen to him, asking him why he should chance his life for Marquise who was undoubtedly at his hideaway reading a book and sipping red wine. * “There is a problem with communication, yes, but not because of some nefarious scheme. Because of the weather.” * He had not understood Hero’s reaction. He had thought Marquise and Yuy had more of an understanding and Heero would back him in his attempt to find the man. He had even hoped Heero would come with him, the man was dating Marquise’s sister, after all. Trowa had snorted when he had looked to him and cited the weather forecast, stating he had not survived the war and half a hundred mercenary fights to end his days as a smear in the foothills of Sanc. He had gone so far as to practically beg Trowa, unwilling to beg the other two, but to no avail. Trowa had waved the latest weather report at him and followed Heero from the room. Which left Quatre, the billionaire businessman, playboy extraordinaire and Duo’s oldest friend amid the group. Quatre technically had little to do with Preventers or fighting now that peace was established. Winner had made a place for himself in another world, the world of big business and high society; dabbling in politics and moving in the same circles as Relena. He had sighed, not even dared to look at Quatre who had stood at the window watching the oncoming blizzard descend upon New Port City. * “I have a helicopter you can use. It has emergency medical supplies on board and survival gear.” “What?” He found it hard to believe he heard the quiet voice offering him the means to effect a rescue. Quatre turned from the window, his hands cupped before his chest, near the vicinity of his heart. “I have a chopper you can use. He’s alive, but I don’t know for how much longer.” * His intense blue eyes had been granite cold and seemed to be looking inward and Duo doubted Quatre had actually seen him standing so near with a dumbfounded look on his face. * “It will be a bad night, Duo and any normal pilot would not consider stepping outside, let alone try to fly in this. You are no normal pilot.” He had never scoffed at Quatre’s ’Space Heart’, not when he had something of his own oddity that drove him to do wild things. He had never mentioned his own awkward feelings that powered some of his more extreme eccentricities, and had led to him having the reputation of a glory hunter. No one would understand who did not himself share the same drive. He had not told anyone, least of all Quatre, but somehow his friend knew. * “I can feel what you feel. I can feel it calling you.” Blue eyes had softened. “You are right, you have to go.” * He still did not believe Winner had provided him with the means to fly this rescue. He had been friends with Quatre since the war and despite the great difference in their pasts they had just seemed to click, understanding each other in a manner the others could not. It was odd to say the least, but Duo was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He took the offer. * “I can not come with you. I would come if I could, but I am supposed to be in a meeting in thirty minutes with the trade delegation from L2. I promised you I would help make a difference on L2 and I will keep my promise. No matter what happens.” * Quatre thought he might die. It had been obvious with his parting comment. Quatre sought to assure him their long talks about his growing years and his life on the streets of L2 had not been forgotten. He could trust Quatre to make a difference, that was why Quatre had taken Winner Enterprises in hand and dabbled so much in politics. Quatre kept his promises. It was a pity others were not so honourable. Sweat beaded on his forehead, threatening to drip into his eyes. He was freezing, the heaters barely able to keep the temperature tolerable but he was sweating too. It was a solid, reliable craft but it fought him every inch of the way. A beep drew his attention to a flashing red light. Afraid the chopper would go down he breathed a sigh of relief on seeing it was the global positioning system informing him he had reached the programmed coordinates. If the tip off was wrong he was a dead man. He might be anyway. According to his radar and confirmed by his map, there was a wooded ridge behind the hut which cut the wind and made the landing far less hazardous than he had been expecting. He could see the hut, a darker shadow in the wind swept night. It was a large clearing, far larger than he had expected. Peering out at the wind blasted night lit by the powerful lights of the chopper, Duo could tell one thing. Someone had picked the spot for ease of access from the air. He was sure he was not on a wild goose chase. It gave him a bad feeling. It made him feel like a sitting duck. He might have been lured here and be a target. It was not impossible, but how would anyone know it would be he who came out after Marquise? Why would any of the Gundam pilots come out after the man who had been their enemy? It was easy enough to guess why Marquise had been taken. The world hated the man who had threatened to blow them all to kingdom come. He could not name a single individual who gave a fig for the man, even Noin had turned on him. Relena felt a sense of responsibility, but no real caring that he could tell. If there was a single individual in the world that everyone loved to hate, it had to be Zechs Marquise. He locked down the rotors, cutting out the engines and listened to the howl of the wind and the moaning of the trees. It was a bad night and there was no let up in sight. The forecast had suggested another day of this weather before there was any hope of a change. He might be trapped here and he might, or not, be alone. Was Marquise in that hut? It was hard to tell how intact the building was. There was little light beyond the chopper and looking at the tempest outside he wondered that there was light at all. The storm itself seemed to generate the light but it would be enough to find his way to the hut, though not enough to see by once he entered. That was alright, it would keep his hands free of the need to use a torch until he reached the cabin. He should be angry at himself for coming here. He should be furious at his friends for NOT being with him. It hurt, actually. Their refusal to come with him hurt, but he had to be fair. Why should they throw away their lives on a feeling? They didn’t even know he had these feelings and was prone to act on them. It was not as though he was Quatre, for God’s sake. Quatre was known for his empathy and they tended to follow his lead without argument. He was not Quatre. He was the salvage man; the junkman. He was thinking of going back to the Sweepers, not joining Preventer as Chang and Yuy seemed to think. Quatre would be angry with him if he did. The junkyard was making enough to see Hilde get by, but he was not interested in it. He had dreamed one day of settling down but it had soured, and it was no fault of Hilde’s. He had not known what he wanted and he still didn’t, but he knew it was not sitting on L2 moving his junk from one side of the yard to the other. Bored as he was being a junkman, even a reasonably successful one, he did not want to rearm and save the world… again. At least not until he had tried something else. Being a Sweeper might be what he needed and Howard had agreed to give him a chance to find out. He thrust himself from his seat and wriggled his way along the narrow cockpit into the bulk of the chopper. It was a reasonable sized craft and heavy enough to survive the flight in. He would be sorry to hand her back to Quatre when he returned from this mission and he refused to acknowledge the traitorous ‘IF’ that sprang to mind. He was a survivor and he was not going to die on a lonely mountainside in a snow storm. It was a change from the slums of L2 and it might be a better way to die than coughing out his life in a garbage heap. The mountains, even storm wracked, were far prettier than L2. He struggled to secure the survival pack to the medical pack and gave up in disgust, but he was not inclined to make more than one trip. If the man was alive in the hut he was not about to make him wait for attention while he gathered the gear to make him comfortable. He had no idea what he was about to face. Marquise might be relaxing in front of a blazing fire on the far side of the world for all he knew. If the tip off was valid he might find the man dead on the floor from cold or strung up by his balls. He might have been shot and if he somehow survived to this point in time, he would probably need blood. Quatre’s chopper came equipped with enough medical supplies it put an ambulance to shame. That was handy and there were even ration packs that heated themselves in the survival pack. He could have something hot to eat after he dealt with whatever needed dealing with. He grabbed the digital camera, though he hoped he would not be taking crime scene photographs. He was not a Preventer but he knew what would be required if he was too late. He would do the full inventory when he had the opportunity but for now, grabbing everything and moving seemed best. Urgency beat at him and he could not escape it. He had to move and move now.
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