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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 3 Damn, he was not going to make the hut gracefully. He spat snow from his mouth and struggled to his feet; no one was present to watch his prat falls. He had fallen three times thus far and he was only a few steps from the helicopter. Falling seem to be all he could do. The wind was far worse than he expected and this was within the relative shelter of the ridge. How had he managed to get this far? The chopper should have been so much debris scattered over a kilometre or two of foothills. He really should be a smear on the countryside of Sanc. His feet felt numb and it was still a ways to the hut. What he could see of the building suggested the lightest touch would send it crumbling into ruin, but it stood against the wind where he could not retain his footing. The survival pack and medical kit helped anchor him but tended to catch the wind and throw him off balance. Mixed blessings seemed to be the order of the day. His lungs ached from the intense cold and despite the thermal underwear and arctic gear he wore, he felt he was freezing. He would give anything to be back in the chopper which had felt tropical in comparison to this inhospitable world. No living breathing animal would be stupid enough to be out in this weather. No animal other than a foolish human with a hero complex. //It’s not for the glory.// It would help if he could explain what it was that drove him to be out in this foul weather. Hell, they had no confirmation Marquise was even missing. The man was a positive recluse and they had been unable to contact him. Duo had taken that to mean the tip off was valid where more sensible heads pleaded caution. He would probably never be able to explain satisfactorily to anyone why he did what he did. The ‘feelings’ that drove him were something he considered private. It was how he had become a Gundam Pilot, following the same gut feeling to go somewhere at a particular time. If he had ignored it then what might he have become in this life? He measured his length in another drift, coming up spitting snow and pawing at his face with heavily gloved hands. Fishing in the drift he found the gear he had dropped and struggled to his feet. Only a little further and he could escape the wind; just a little further and he would have shelter. One step, then another and another. One foot forward, the other… again. Again. He staggered as a gust threatened to lift him from his feet and clutched the gear close to him, hugging it to increase his weight and hunching over to present a smaller target for the wind. There was the veranda post just ahead. A few more steps and he would have something solid over his head. A couple more and he would gain the shelter of the room. //If not have it on my head the way it creaks.// The hut was better than nothing and since his other choice was nothing, it would do. He was not about to turn around and slog his way back to the chopper. Not without taking a rest first. He fished around at his waist for the torch as he clumped onto the porch, barely saving himself another fall as his boots slid on packed ice. Dropping the gear and grasping the support post he clung on for dear life, cringing as the post creaked alarmingly. //You better be alive, Marquise or I am going to shoot you for the trouble you have put me through.// Carefully he eased forward, scowling at the open door. The wind was blowing at an angle and the cabin seemed to eat the torchlight. He staggered at a particularly savage blast of wind and directed the torch beam around the surprisingly large room. Were those footsteps in the snow piled up inside the door? Just on the edge of the torch beam, away from the immediate exposure to the elements there were a series of depressions in the snow. Someone had been here. It was the first tangible evidence he had he was not following a phantom. The tip off might still be a lie, a distraction from what had really occurred, if anything had happened, which might warrant attention from a Gundam Pilot turned Preventer. The tip had arrived as a part of Wu Fei’s general Preventer email. Sender unknown, their address untraceable. It might be an attempt to distract Chang from New Port City. Duo shook his head, disregarding his own thought. No, it was no hoax or attempt to distract a Preventer from protecting the people. He knew, deep down, he was in the right place; but was he here at the right time? Stepping further into the room he moved the light around, seeking some evidence of occupation and he found it. A clear trail of footsteps in the lighter snow leading toward a door at the far side of the cabin. Scuff marks suggested whoever had been here had been as prone to falling on their duff as he in the atrocious conditions. There was not much in the way of snow within those footprints. He could safely assume the tracks had been made recently and he paused, listening for any sound to suggest he had company. The trail suggested either there were multiple people involved or one person had made a number of trips through the rooms. He was careful to shine the light into every nook and cranny and determined this was the only door leading from the main room into the interior. A large room given the size of the building, dominated by a huge stone hearth. It would be homely, cozy with a fire roaring and a pot of game stew simmering. He could almost see the scene, almost smell the stew, until a waft of freezing air threatened to send him crashing to the ground. //Damn! I can’t afford to break a leg.// Shuffling seemed safest, not actually lifting his feet from the icy floor. Sliding one foot in front of the other, slowly and carefully, moving closer and closer to the door. It was partially open, swaying in the breeze and Duo wished he had had the presence of mind to shut the outer door behind him. If he could get it to shut, which might involve some digging and breaking of ice from no doubt rusted hinges. It would have been fractionally warmer but he was uneasy about this entire set up. If he had to run he preferred an open door at his back. Still, it was not a comfort to know anyone hidden in the woods might approach him unheard. Neither option was a glowing example of safety under fire. Not that he was literally under fire. The door was under his gloved fingertips and he pushed gently. It squealed, rusted hinges protesting as it opened. He pushed harder, if anyone was in the room they had to know he was here. He dropped low and slipped, falling on his back and sliding, knocking the wind out of his lungs. No bullets barked from the room to teach him one last lesson in life. No boogieman leapt from the dark to scream in his face and slit him from groin to throat with a long knife. God, he watched too many classic B grade horror flicks. Rolling over carefully he sat up and searched for the torch. It rested on his survival pack and he breathed a sigh of relief it had not broken. Sitting in the snow he directed the beam into the room and stared. “My God. The sick bastard.” He had to be dead. Marquise was securely bound about his chest and ankles to a chair. Duo suspected his right hand was bound behind his back to the chair, but his left hand was strapped along his thigh, tied across the palm and at mid forearm. Marquise’s trousers were soaked in blood from the cut crossing his wrist, the blood glinting wetly in the beam of the torch. The pale hair was spread out around broad shoulders, a glimmer of moonlight in the dark room. His head was lowered and all Duo could see was the pale mass moving gently in the cold draughts seeping into the room. A frigid blast at his back broke Duo from his horror and got him moving. First thing was first, though he was certain it was useless. The man had to be dead but he needed to make sure. He shuffled forward, nudging the survival pack and medical kit with his foot before kneeling beside Marquise. He glanced briefly at the slashed wrist and noted it no longer bled. It was hard to determine how much blood the man had lost. Duo gripped one wool lined mitt in his teeth and pulled it from his hand, his warm fingers seeking a pulse. Marquise was not shivering and he was icy cold to touch, but Duo gently brushed aside the moon silk hair and felt for a pulse. “Damn! You tough bastard.” He reached for the survival kit and the thermal blanket. He had not expected to find a pulse… but he had. Weak, slow and faltering, but it was there.
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